


In Foie Gras We Trust

by trilesanderrors (kitschordie)



Category: Degrassi, Degrassi the Next Generation
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-02-12 17:52:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2119203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitschordie/pseuds/trilesanderrors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles is finally free from his father. In the months leading up to his high school graduation, his grandmother offers him early access to his trust fund, in hopes that he will use the money to live the way HE wants to live. If only Miles could figure out which way that was. ESTABLISHED TRILES</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I was never going to go to Harvard. Or Stamford. Or Banting. Or any other school that my dad would have been proud to wear a sweatshirt from as he cheered on the football team. Now, before you go making any assumptions, I'm not dumb or anything. My grades are actually pretty fucking fantastic. You know how it is, though. You make a few stupid mistakes when you're fifteen, and they haunt you forever. Yeah, early expulsion from Sweden's finest international school doesn't really look good on a college resume... Don't ask.

The thing is, my dad never quite accepted my inevitable fate. From the second I turned seventeen, he started answering every question for me, as if the two of us had the whole thing figured out.

"We've got our fingers crossed for Notre Dame or UPenn," He'd tell every dinner party guest who'd shown a contrived, obligatory interest in me and/or my future. "You know, his mother and I have always hoped the kids would go to school in The States."

If that was the case, I'd never heard mention of it. Although, having excuse to live in a different country from my parents didn't sound half bad, even if my previous experiences of living abroad had ended in disaster (ie. Sweden's finest international school. I told you not to ask!)

"Screw the Ivy Leagues!" Tristan was wickedly urging me from the moment the college conversation began. "Just come to Smithdale."

"So I can weigh you down and ruin your chances of becoming the next great Shakespearean actor?" I teased. "Not a chance."

"Miles," He whined. "That is not going to happen. You know you're just going to miss me like crazy if you don't come."

I swallowed hard, knowing he was right, but not wanting to take the conversation seriously just yet. We were sitting on the couch in my family room, college pamphlets open in our laps. I shoved my stack onto the cushions next to me, and leaned back, overwhelmed.

"Nah," I told him casually. "I've been waiting for a break from you for years."

Tristan reached out and gave me a playful shove. "You jackass!" He cackled, then quietly flipped through the pamphlet he was holding, undoubtedly looking for another blurb about Smithdale's theatre school auditions.

I rested my head on the back of the couch, and just watched. He was so focused; so determined. I hated being that guy who gets jealous of his own boyfriend, but the feeling was so overpowering, more so now than ever. Tristan knew what he wanted, and even with his playful insistence that I join him at Smithdale, I wasn't sure if what he wanted actually included me.

Tristan's eyes scanned the page for just a moment before he looked up at me again. He'd always been the type of person who could look at me and know exactly what I was thinking. Man, I hated him for that.

He lowered his eyebrows and tilted his head knowingly. "Oh, come on. It's not going to be that bad. We'll figure something out. It's us, isn't it?"

I let out a shaky breath, nodding.

"Aw, Miles. Come here…" Tristan cupped my face with his hand, and pressed a gentle kiss to my lips. "You're gonna make me cry."

It really was the uncertainty, in that particular moment in time, that got to me. I knew I had options and everything. If I couldn't get in anywhere on merit alone, my mother would get out her checkbook, and at least one admissions board was likely to start drooling, money signs appearing in their eyes. No, I wasn't worried about not getting in. I was worried about ending up somewhere where I'd be totally unhappy. I hated the pressure to make a decision, because I knew the less time I had, the more rash my decision would be. What if I decided to go to The States, and went mental without Tristan? What if I decided to follow Tristan to Smithdale, and went mental because I couldn't stand his pretentious actor friends? What if I avoided the decision for too long, missed every application deadline, and destroyed my entire future? There were just too many terrible scenarios on my mind. I could hardly process them.

And so, I laid awake every night for the entire first term of grade 12, telling myself that I would make a decision the next day. I had to make a decision the next day. I had to take action. Any kind of action.

But I didn't. I kept doing nothing. That didn't stop me from telling my dad for a month that my Dartmouth application was as good as done, and that I just needed my English teacher to finish proofing the essay that I'd secretly never shown her. I technically never lied to him. I just told him the part of the truth that I knew he wanted to hear.

I couldn't lie to Tristan, though. He and I were so beyond that.

"I'm so sick of this," I confessed to him one night. His mum was out and we were alone in his room, my head resting against his chest as we lay in bed. "This idea that I have to know right now what I want to do. High school's not even over. Can't I just enjoy the end of senior year?"

"You're not enjoying this?" Tristan asked, lightly stroking my arm.

I sighed, frustrated. "You know what I mean." Then, to reassure him, I scooted up a bit and kissed him on the cheek. "I just wish there was another option."

"Miles Hollingsworth The Third," Tristan scolded wisely. "You've never been one to put yourself in a box. If you want another option, you'll find one."

And with that, I realized he was right. I could stop worrying about which college I'd go to. If I didn't want to make a decision, I didn't actually have to. It wasn't as if I'd drop dead if the application deadlines came and went. I had free will, and I could do whatever I wanted. The problem was, my parents wanted me to go to college, and until I was twenty-five and gained access to my trust fund, they also controlled my bank account. If I were to defy their wishes, I was going to have to get creative.

\-----

"Miles, really lean in. Get your heads together."

I sighed heavily, placing my hand on Frankie's shoulder, and fitting my head into the window between her and Hunter.

"You're messing up my hair." Frankie mumbled pointedly.

"Can we just take the picture already?" Hunter snapped at both of us.

"Wow. What's crawled up your butt?" Frankie snapped back.

"We both know I'm not the one who likes stuff up his butt."

The twins often had a tendency of forgetting their surroundings, and had lost themselves in the bickering match.

"Jesus christ, Hunter," I punitively dug my nails into his shoulder. He squirmed instinctively.

"Ugh! Stop it!"

Several feet in front of us, my grandmother lowered her brand new DSL camera, clearing her throat and forcing a tight-lipped smile to assure me that she "wasn't bothered" by the butt sex comments. "Perhaps we should try again after dinner?" She asked sweetly,

"No!" Frankie and Hunter said in unison.

If we couldn't cooperate with grandmother now, she'd probably just go out and hire a professional photographer, forcing us to return to her town home in a month, wearing the same designer outfits we were wearing today. She'd have the creep physically force us into exactly the position she wanted us to be in, and take a series of pictures that she'd tell people, a decade later, were actually taken spur-of-the-moment on Christmas Eve. Before the timely advent of digital photography (and my grandmother's painfully awkward social media addiction) such a scenario was an annual occurrence. None of us wanted to relive the trauma.

"I'm sorry, Grandma." I adjusted myself again, and put my head where I'd originally been asked. "Go ahead."

The three of us smiled big, goofy grins. She was practically giddy as she lifted her camera again, snapping away.

"Perfect!" She cooed. "Ugh! My little christmas angels."

Hunter stifled a cynical laugh. I dug my nails into his shoulder again, reminding him to humor her.

As she was finishing up, my Dad strolled into the parlor, his arms crossed as he passively observed the picturesque moment.

"Oh, Junior, look!" Grandma beamed down at her display screen, motioning for him to come and see. "Just like when they were kids."

With the distraction, we sprung away from each other, unable to pretend we were close for another moment.

"Oh, kids…" My grandmother scoffed shamefully. "It wasn't that bad."

"Give them a break, Mum." Dad tried. "Siblings are less affectionate than they were when you were young."

"You've raised them to be so competitive," She chastised him. "There's one constant you get in life, and that's family. What are they going to have now?"

Father looked over, sizing us up. "Their integrity, I hope… A sense of self sufficiency?" He winked at us. I could have barfed.

"You're just like your father," She said, stiffly shaking her head. Her voice broke a little at the end of the sentence. Grandpa had died from lung cancer when I was a baby, and Grandma still had trouble talking about him, especially when her words bordered on negative.

"Oh, come on," Dad said pleasantly, untouched by her. "That was exactly what you two wanted, wasn't it?"

"You were an only child." Grandma reminded him. "I had no idea what I was doing."

My father crossed his arms again, giving a careless shrug. There was no way he was going to take any of the blame for how we'd turned out. "Are we going to eat or not?"

"Miles, honey," Grandma began. It took me a moment to realize she was addressing me. There were too many other Mileses she could have been talking about. "Could you go track down your lovely mother? She snuck off to the bathroom, what? Twenty minutes ago."

I nodded compliantly, and made my way toward the parlor's entrance. As I was inching into the hall, I head my grandmother asking Dad, "You didn't upset her again, did you?"

I wouldn't have put it past him either. It was always difficult for my dad to get through a holiday without causing a stink about soiled expectations or some crap like that. They typically fought about who had embarrassed who in front of grandma. It was pretty exhausting, and to be honest, I hardly had the patience to deal with it today.

As I made my way through the foyer, and toward the town home's marble staircase, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked for texts. Tristan had driven to Guelph to see his aunt and uncle, and I'd gotten accustomed to reading the play-by-play of his adventures any time he traveled. It was a nice distraction from Hollingsworth family drama, and helped me feel like we weren't actually spending the day together.

"Uncle Ben insisted on real tree this year. Like. What is he trying to prove?" He'd written. Then, in another message, "It's dangerously close to the fire place." And another, "Mr. Putter-the-Tabby keeps trying to climb it." I felt an amused grin creeping onto my face. "If it wasn't clear. Mr. Putter is a cat."

I texted back. "Stop, drop, and roll. Never 4get."

He replied immediately. "Yeah. Thanks, Bae."

I laughed out loud, imagining him rolling his eyes sarcastically as he said it.

"Is that Tristan?"

I looked up quickly to find my mom coming out of grandmother's guest room, her eyes red and puffy. She sniffed unattractively, putting her hands on her hips, and lifting up her chin. I assumed that she thought if she tried hard enough to act confident, I wouldn't realize she'd been crying. She obviously hadn't looked in the mirror.

"Of course it is," I told her, lowering my phone.

"Okay." She nodded stupidly. "Glad he got to Guelph okay."

Over the years, Tristan had really grown on Mom. I guess he'd always impressed her with his beyond-his-years manners and wit. It was nice and all, but she always acted like her approval of him should earn her a medal or something. I refused to indulge her by discussing our relationship.

So, we just stood there for a moment, and then it slowly dawned on me that she was waiting for me to say something else, and not necessarily about Tristan. I realized she did, in fact, know that I could tell she'd been crying. She probably wanted to see if I would finally try to console her. She needed to give up. I'd been finished offering her sympathy for years. All the pain she was experiencing was pain she'd been bringing upon herself by staying with my dad. I didn't want to know what he'd done this time, and I didn't want to pretend like I was on either of their sides. I just wanted to go downstairs, eat, and get out of grandma's house as soon as we could.

"Dinner's ready," I told her bluntly.

"Oh," She said, an air of disappointment in her voice. We weren't going to have a heart to heart any time soon. I spun around quickly, and lead her back down the staircase. Her Prada heels clacked rhythmically on the marble behind me as she followed.

We arrived in the dining room to interrupt yet another instance of my father speaking on my behalf.

"…Dartmouth. You know we've always liked the idea of The States."

"Yep. You know me…" I dryly chimed in. "I've always felt like a big ole' yankee doodle deep down inside."

My father simply glared at me.

Grandma wasn't paying attention to me or my dad. Her gaze was fixed on Mom. Mom was smiling, but grandma, like me, was too smart for that. She smiled back, but there was rage in her eyes. She hated her son for ruining yet another holiday dinner by making someone feel unpleasant. Of course, she was an idiot for expecting anything else.

The salad had already been served, and Frankie and Hunter poked at their lettuce, bored. Nothing about the situation was shocking for them. I lowered myself in the seat next to Frankie, picking up my own fork.

"Bon appétit," I mumbled.

The six of us finished the rest of our meal in silence. Merry Christmas to us.

\-----

The food grandma served us was always incredible, not that she could take any credit for it herself. Her cook, Patricia, had been serving us Christmas dinner for as long as I could remember. One of the reasons we always had our feast on Christmas Eve was so Patrice would have the 25th off to spend with her family. Grandma was really considerate about things like that.

When we'd finished our final course, a traditional English pudding, Patricia shuffled out of the kitchen, eager to clear the table for us.

"Oh, no no!" Grandma scolded. "Your work is done, Pat. I know how to clear a table."

"Mrs. Hollingsworth, I…" She began. It was the same thing every year, grandma always insisted on letting her go early. She protested as a formality, but we all knew she was secretly thrilled by the request.

Grandma lifted a hand, interrupting her. "I don't want to hear it. Take the left overs you want, we'll pack up the rest."

Patricia was deeply appreciative. "Thank you, Mrs. Hollingsworth."

She rushed off, back into the kitchen.

"We'll just give her a moment," Grandma said in a hushed tone, lifting her plum-colored cloth napkin out of her lap and wiping the corners of her mouth. Then, she dropped the napkin on the table, a look of realization coming over her face. "Oh, I almost forgot!"

"What?" My Dad asked impatiently. Grandma was already standing up from the table.

"I'm going to need some help getting her present downstairs. Miles, sweetheart, would you help me."

My Dad made an annoyed noise in his throat, reluctantly taking his own napkin out of his lap.

"Not you." Grandma scolded. "The Miles with the decent attitude."

She couldn't possibly mean me, could she? I smirked, amused by the obvious joke.

"Sure, Grandma." I stood up, and followed her out of the room.

She began making small talk with me as soon as we reached the staircase. "So…" She started. "Dartmouth, eh?"

I laughed roughly. "Yeah, Dad's pretty delusional, isn't he?"

Grandma wasn't having it. "What are you talking about? You're a smart boy, aren't you?"

We reached the top of the stairs, and turned our way down the corridor, moving toward the master suite at the end of the hall. "Sure, but can you picture me at Dartmouth?"

She sighed thoughtfully, shaking her head. "I suppose you're right. I always pictured you in a big city… At NYU, maybe… If you're so set on The States."

I nodded quietly. Grandma lead me into her room, which was a mess. You'd never expect that level of clutter from a 76-year-old billionaire, but she'd always kept her room off-limits to her cleaning staff. It was her oasis.

A pile of wrapped gifts was stacked against one of the bedroom walls. None of them looked particularly heavy, so I wondered why she'd asked me to come with her. Then, she crossed over to two wooden rocking chairs in the corner of the room. They were dainty, and carved with incredible detail. Grandma had tied a giant bow to each of them.

Grandma stood behind them, setting her hands on the back of one. "Patricia always talked about how they had rocking chairs on the front porch of her cottage growing up…" She told me. "She and her husband just moved into a house with a great porch, and I thought… Well, you know. These are from the right period and everything."

I stared incredulously, realizing that Grandma must have spent a fortune, seeing how the chairs were actual antiques. Most people, my mother included, gave their help fruit baskets for the holidays.

"Oh, stop it," Grandma laughed, reading my mind. "Patricia has been with me for decades. She's had every opportunity to poison me, and I like to reward her for her self control. Now, will you grab one of these and help me get them down to her."

I nodded, and rushed over to her. Each of us grabbed one of the chairs, which were surprisingly light, and went back towards the bedroom's double doors.

As soon as we were moving, Grandma jumped right back to the subject of college. I'd learned that it was hard for adult relatives to stay away from.

"Miles, listen to me," She told me. "If you know Dartmouth is a bust, save yourself the headache and give up now. Your father will hate me for saying this but… well… I guess he already hates me."

"I gave up on Dartmouth months ago, Grandma." I responded honestly.

"Of course you did," She sighed, as we started carefully down the stairs. "You know, you make me so proud. Your father… he was never able to truly think for himself. Even after Miles - the first Miles, I mean - after your grandfather passed… you know, your Dad never really found himself."

We got to the bottom of the stairs. I expected Grandma to continue down the hall to the kitchen, but she stopped, turning to face me head on.

"He's got a lot of resentment, I think, and a lot of insecurities," She continued. I listened uncomfortably, not sure what to make of what she was saying. "I know, or… I've always hoped that somewhere deep down he truly loves your mother, and all of you kids, but then I see the way he takes his pain out on you… You have to understand that's hard for me to see that as a mother."

I nodded awkwardly.

"Oh, listen to me, rambling on…" She laughed briefly, then immediately got serious again. "What I wanted to say was… honey, you've never been like that. Your heart is so much bigger… so much stronger, if that makes any sense. You stand up for yourself, and even though you fight with your siblings, I've seen the way you truly love that boy…"

This was getting a little too sappy for me, and Grandma wasn't quite done yet.

"I just… I don't want you to become your father. It would kill me to see that happen. Not that I have many good years left…"

"Don't worry," I said confidently. "I have no plans to be anything like Dad."

She pursed her lips, nodding apprehensively for a moment. "Miles," She said when she spoke again. "…I want to give you access to your trust fund."

It took me a second to process it. "What? Wait… now?"

"Well… soon. When you turn eighteen. Instead of twenty-five."

I suddenly felt light headed, and contemplated setting the rocking chair I was holding down so I could sit in it. My trust fund had been set up by my grandfather when I was born. I'd never heard an actual quote, but it was my understanding that it would take care of me for life.

"I want you enter adulthood free from your father. I want you to be able to make your own choices," Grandma was still talking, but I could barely hear her. "I'll do the same for your brother and sister when the time comes."

"Oh my god…" I shook my head. "Grandma, thank you!"

I grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her in for a tight hug. All I could think was that everything had changed. My world had opened up. The possibilities were endless.

I couldn't wait to tell Tristan.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles shares the news of his inheritance with the people in his life, and some are happier for him than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for the positive mojo, guys! Especially those who have recommended my fic to others :). FYI, I'm also posting this under the same title on Fanfiction.net, so feel free to read it there if that site is easier for you for whatever reason. ENJOY.

"Don't tell me to calm down," My father was mumbling in the front seat of his Lincoln, gripping his steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white.

"Well, what if you're right?" My mother nervously tried arguing with him. "What if she is just trying to get a reaction?"

I pressed my forehead against the cool window as we moved down Queen Street. I loved being out on holidays, when the city was so quiet. It was so surreally peaceful. I tried to focus on that, instead of the argument my parents were having about me.

"You expect me not to fight this!?" My dad was yelling. "She's basically given our kids permission to run around aimlessly after high school, taking no responsibility whatsoever."

My mother sighed, and shifted in her seat so that she could turn and look at us.

"Kids. You're all still going to college, right?"

"Absolutely, Mom." Frankie answered for all of us, a tight smile on her face.

"There we go!" Mom said pointedly, facing forward again. Frankie rolled her eyes, and I knew that she would have said anything to bring the argument to an end. "And now that the kids will have their own money after high school, we can start thinking about getting that place in Barcelona."

My dad practically growled. "Miles," He raised his voice, as if I hadn't already been listening. "How the hell didshe let you talk her into this?"

"Mind control," I answered dryly. "Obviously."

Hunter let out a quiet laugh.

"You're going to college right away," Dad ordered me "If taking that money means you'll take some sort of bullshit gap year…"

"You know what?" I interrupted him, feeling empowered by the knowledge that everything he was saying was wrong. "Grandma's giving me that money whether you like it or not, so I don't give a crap what you think."

Suddenly, dad slammed his foot on the breaks, and the car came to a screeching halt. Thankfully, it was late and no one was on the road, or we would have been rear ended for sure. I knew immediately that my words had really gotten to him, and I felt an overwhelming sense of victory.

"Miles!" My mother screamed, at him, not me. He quickly put the car in park.

"You think you've got it all figured out?" My dad whipped his head around, straining to peek around the back of his seat to stare me down. I was directly behind him, so it wasn't easy. "You think a few bucks is gonna leave you better off? You think you'll be happy?"

I clenched my teeth, telling myself to just take it. Nothing he said could change anything. I just had to remember that.

"You're going to fail, Miles." He said, his voice low and mean. "You've never been able to do anything right, and all the riches in the world couldn't fix you."

We locked eyes for a long moment. The rest of the car was silent. He was waiting for me to break, but I wouldn't.

"Well." I said confidently. "If all it does is get me away from you, I guess it'll be money well spent."

With that, I dramatically undid my seat belt. I pressed the unlock button on my door, and pushed it open, stepping confidently onto the pavement.

"Miles!" My mother cried again, but to me this time.

"I can walk from here." I told them wisely, then slammed the door.

The car hesitated for only a minute before driving away. My dad didn't like his authority to be questioned, but when he left me there on the street, I realized that was the only issue at hand. He could stop lying to himself. It was obvious that he would be glad to be rid of me when the time came.

There a couple things you have to understand about Toronto. First off, it's a pretty big city, and my house wasn't exactly walking distance from Eaton Centre. Secondly, it gets cold in the winter, like anywhere else in Canada. Thirdly, it's difficult to find a cab in Toronto when you're stranded downtown at 11:30 PM on Christmas eve, but I'm sure that's the case in any North American city.

It took me about ten minutes to realize that I might actually freeze to death if I didn't seek out shelter. I started by calling a couple cab companies, whose numbers I had stored in my phone. Each one told me that they only had a couple drivers on call tonight, and that it would be over an hour before anyone was available. I opened my wallet and checked for change, hoping I could scrounge up enough for the street car or subway. As soon as I looked, I felt stupid for checking. I rarely carried cash. I used my credit card for everything.

I was going to have to beg some random pedestrian for train fare, all because I had agreed to accept my trust when I turned eighteen. The irony of the situation killed me. The worst part was, there wasn't even anyone on the street that I could ask for help. The situation was looking pretty bad.

I found a bench on the sidewalk and sat down, pulling my phone out of my pocket.

"Hey," Tristan answered softly.

"I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No, I'm just on the couch with the cats, going into a Turkey coma," He explained pleasantly. "You home from your grandma's?"

I laughed weakly. "Not exactly. I'm kind of at the mall. Outside of the mall. I have to wait an hour for a cab."

"Nanna Hollingsworth's was just too dull, then?" Tristan teased.

I sighed heavily. "It's a long story." I told him. "I'd explain, but… I don't really want to tell you over the phone."

"Oh…" He sounded nervous.

"Hey. It's not a bad thing, okay?" I assured him, shivering harder now. "You'll be happy about it."

"The suspense is killing me." He replied charmingly.

"I just hope I don't freeze to death before we get the chance to talk."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic!"

I laughed. "Well, in case I do die, I just wanted to tell you I love you, and merry Christmas."

Tristan's voice softened. "I love you too, Miles."

I took a deep breath, feeling infinitely warmed by the sound of his voice saying those words.

"And Miles…?" He continued.

"Mhmm…"

"Find a bar to wait in. Or a church. They're everywhere. You know, there will be midnight masses tonight. You're not going freeze."

"Thanks, Tris." I told him, thankful that he was smarter than I was at this particular moment in time.

"That's what I'm here for."

After we hung up, I started walking. After about two blocks, I came across a Methodist church, and sure enough, the place was as alive as ever. I shoved my numb hands into my coat pockets, and made my way to the building. As I entered the church lobby, I began fumbling with my phone again, so that I would have a cab waiting for me when the service let out. Tristan really was a genius.

Before I could dial, though, I was interrupted.

"Miles?"

I looked up to see Mr. and Mrs. Gilmore, our neighbors, coming towards me with goofy grins on their faces.

"What are you doing here?" Mrs. Gilmore was cooing. She reached out and hugged me before I could protest. "Are your parents here?"

The question was laughable. My parents were the most godless people in Canada. "No," I joked. "They only celebrate the pagan elements of the holiday."

Mr. Gilmore's smile wavered. "Oh… um…"

Mrs. Gilmore interrupted before her husband could say something offensive. "You're here alone then? Well, you'll have to sit with us."

"Of course," I used every ounce of my energy to keep from laughing. The two of them were beaming, thoroughly convinced that I was some precious child who had been saved by god's love in spite of the resistance of my parents. A week ago, they just saw me as some annoying teenager who threw wild parties and played my music too loud. Tonight, they had nothing but admiration for me. Religion was weird.

The two of them began leading me toward the chapel, but I stopped them to ask one last question. I slipped my phone back into my pocket. "Hey. Do you think I could get a ride home after this?"

\-----

There were times I wondered if I'd ever really experienced Christmas morning the way other kids experienced it. I'd never believed in Santa, and I wasn't sure the twins had either. Even though Mom and Dad had playfully thrown his name around every now and then, they'd never made any legitimate effort to maintain the illusion. It was always painfully clear that they still expected recognition for the expensive gifts they'd picked out for us. To be honest, receiving presents from our parents wasn't anything out of the ordinary. They showered us with new things all year round. Past the age of six or seven, the addition of shiny paper and a tree lost its novelty.

This year, I barely got through the exchanging of gifts. Sure, on some level, I felt very fortunate to be adding five new designer sweaters to my collection, but tensions were still high after the previous night's drama, which kind of soured the mood. My father could barely look me in the eye. I couldn't stand to wait any longer to see Tristan. His mom had to work Boxing Day, so they were coming back to the city after an early Christmas lunch with his uncle. I knew time was going to move very slowly until then.

Once all of our presents were open, I quietly thanked my mom, giving her an obligatory kiss on the cheek, then gathered my loot in my arms and made my way up to my room. There, I dropped everything in a pile in the corner, and fell back into bed. I hadn't yet changed out of my pajamas, so I was perfectly equipped for a nap. I was still exhausted from last night's adventure, and I knew that sleep would be a good way to occupy myself.

I slept for a few hours, until I was awoken by the sound of my text notification. I sat up with a start, and smacked around for my mattress, trying to figure out where I'd put it. I finally lifted up my pillow and found it.

Tristan had written, "Pulling in at home. Heading over there ASAP!"

My stomach did a somersault, but in the best way possible. I quickly slid out of bed, and started gathering clothes to change into: a pair of jeans, underwear, one of my new sweaters (hey, I knew it was clean!) Then, I ran into the bathroom to take the world's fastest shower.

Once I was bathed and clothed, I checked my phone again. "On My Way!"

I was beaming with excitement. You would have thought it had been a year since I'd seen him, rather than two days. To be fair, with the night I'd had, it had felt more like a year. I rubbed mousse into my hair and ran a comb through it, then sprayed myself with my favorite Ralph Lauren cologne. I was giving myself a final once-over in the mirror when my phone went off again. "Here!"

I burst out of my room, and down the hallway. I took the stairs two at a time, and nearly wiped out on the marble floors at the bottom. I tore through the family room, attracting quizzical stares from my mother and sister, who were watching It's A Wonderful Life on the big screen. Finally, I was in the courtyard, where Tristan was waiting for me in his simple black pea coat. I, however, had forgotten to wear a coat… or shoes for that matter.

"For someone so worried about freezing…" Tristan started. I threw myself into his arms before he could finish, burying my face into the nape of his neck. He slowly hugged back, one hand lightly stroking the back of my hair. "Wow. I should go to the suburbs more often."

We pulled apart, and kissed lightly. Then again, harder; desperate to feel close again after our time a apart. When we were done, he leaned away from me, and looked down at me feet, his brow furrowed. "You know, we really should go inside before your feet fall off."

I looked down, laughing. I was, in fact, beginning to lose the feeling in my toes. I took him by the hand, and started pulling him back toward the house. This time, I took him to the other side of the courtyard and through the kitchen entrance, or "the service entrance," as my dad so affectionately referred to it. My parents had never tried to keep Tristan out of my room, so it wasn't as if I was trying to sneak him up there. I just didn't want to put him through another round of invasive small talk, which would be inevitable if they saw him.

"So, I could barely sleep last night, knowing you had some big news to tell me," Tristan told me as we climbed up the back staircase.

"Ah, yes," I sighed, pretending like I had forgotten. "The news."

"Stop!" He laughed. "You're not seriously going to string me along like this."

I shrugged coyly, as we approached the door to my room. "Like what…?"

"Miles, I swear. If it's another present… I already feel crappy enough."

We had exchanged our Christmas gifts before he'd left. I'd gotten him a vintage pocket watch, a Tommy Hilfiger cardigan, and a few DVDs of rare musicals for his collection. He gave me a bunch of framed photos of us, baked me three kinds of christmas cookies, and wrote me a letter that managed to simultaneously be the hottest and most heartwarming thing I had ever read. His gifts were far superior to mine, but I could tell he felt insecure about not being able to spend as much as I did.

"Come on, Tris," I told him, as we entered my room and closed the door behind us. "I'd have to give you a thousand more presents to properly match the level of awesome you achieved with yours."

"Well, if you're gonna spend the money anyway, I'd rather have cash…" Tristan sighed playfully.

I laughed roughly, and gave him a playful shove. He grinned, and sat down at the end of my bed, kicking off his boots. "That could be arranged, actually."

"Stop!" He insisted. "You make me feel like such a whore."

I sat down next to him, and gave him another kiss. "At least you're a cute whore."

He frowned dramatically. "You're killing me." I laughed again, and he couldn't help but crack a smile. "Well, if it's not another present, then what is it?"

It's been thinking how I wanted to lead with since Grandma gave me the news last night. I cleared my throat, ready to really deliver this.

"How would you like to go back to Paris this summer?" I asked him. "I was thinking we'd start there, spend a few weeks in a little flat, and then depending on where our whims carry us, we can go other places too."

Tristan was smiling, but there was confusion in his eyes. "What other places?"

"I don't know! Spain. Switzerland. Germany. Anywhere we want."

He shook his head. "Your parents would never pay for that. Would they?"

My cheeks hurt, I was smiling so hard. "They don't have to."

"Miles…" He warned, in case I was screwing with him.

I couldn't contain myself. "I'm getting my trust money. My inheritance, really… from my grandpa. My grandma wants me to have it now. I mean, in January. When I turn 18."

Tristan was practically speechless. "That's…"

"Incredible?" I finished for him. "Insane? All of the above?"

"Miles… how much money are we talking about here?"

"I could be wrong… But my grandma's always said…" I hesitated. This moment felt surreal. I'd never said the number out loud. "It's ten percent of everything he had…" Tristan stared blankly at me. He didn't know what that meant. Even I couldn't quite wrap my head around it. "Tristan… he was a billionaire…"

Tristan's eyes widened. "I'm gonna barf." He said breathily, shaking his head at the floor. "I'm in love with a man who's worth more than ten of my house…"

I patted him on the back. "I'll give you a minute to process this."

"What does this mean?" He continued. "What do you even do with a tenth of a billion dollars?"

"I have no freaking idea." I laughed. "That's why I thought we'd just start with Paris."

Tristan didn't know what else to say, so he just leaned forward and kissed me again. "No more expensive presents though. I mean, I'll totally let you pay for Paris because, hello, what kind of dummy would pass that up. But… no more presents. Promise?"

"Promise."

Although I wasn't completely sure I'd be able to keep it. He was just too much fun to spoil.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles has his 18th birthday, and signs the papers for his inheritance.

“Sign here…. and here…. and one last line _here_ … Congratulations, Mr. Hollingsworth, you are officially richer than I will ever be.” 

January 19th had come quicker than I would have expected it too. Tristan and I had had a quiet New Year, and before we knew it, we were back at school, embarking on the final half of our final year of high school. The strangeness of that alone was enough to distract me from the anticipation of my 18th birthday. 

My alarm woke me up at six-thirty. I got dressed quietly, and made my way outside, desperately hoping I wouldn’t get caught. My parents didn’t know the details of Grandma and I’s plans. They didn’t know that she had made a crack-of-dawn appointment with her financial planner, and was picking me up in her town car so that we could be at the bank before school started. I’m sure that they were expecting me to pull something like that, and I’m sure that they weren’t planning any alternative morning birthday celebration. I was convinced that they’d avoid my birthday all together this year, because they were, you know, still bitter about my upcoming independence.

I lowered the fountain pen that my grandma had fished out of her purse for the signing. I would have been fine if we’d signed all the papers with a regular ball point, but she’d insisted on using something “grandpa would have written with.” 

“Your entire life is about to change,” She told me, extending the pen to me with a coy smile on her face. “If you’re so informal about signing those papers, I’m going to think you don’t appreciate this moment at all.” 

And so I took the fountain pen, and as I held it between my fingers, as I let it glide across the page as I signed my name, I realized it felt right. Even though I had never really known my grandpa, it felt _right_ to be doing this exactly how he would have wanted me to do it. It made the moment more intense, and as I set that pen down, I experienced a powerful wave of emotion. I truly was free. 

We shook the banker’s hand on our way out. Then, as Grandma buttoned up her coat, she said, “And now, you’re going to buy me breakfast.”

“Sure thing, Grandma.” I chuckled. It felt like the least I could do, seeing how she’d just given me access to millions of dollars. 

We went to an upscale place near her house, where we indulged ourselves with forty dollar quiche and virgin mimosas. Grandma called Degrassi and told the front desk receptionist that he grandson would be late for school because he’d just become a millionaire. It was the perfect way to celebrate. 

“Thank you, Grandma.” I said to her, as the waitress handed me the bill. Even though I’d thanked her a dozen times already since Christmas, I never felt done. “Thank you for trusting me, I guess.”

“Miles, you’re going to live quite the life. I’m just glad I’m still around to watch you live it.” She patted me lovingly on the arm, then grabbed the check.

“I thought I was getting it!” I said defensively.

“You can hardly afford it,” She teased, reaching for her purse. “You only got ten percent of his wealth. I got fifty.” 

“Touché, Grandma…” I laughed out loud. “Touché indeed.” 

——

 

I got to school during fourth period, right before lunch. It felt weird, like going to school on a Saturday. Grandma had told me I didn’t have to go, insisting that no child should ever have to go to school on their birthday, and although I knew wouldn’t be able to concentrate in any of my classes, I realized I didn’t want to miss seeing my friends. 

That being said, there didn’t seem to be a point to going to just half of calc, so I went to the library after Grandma dropped me off to kill time until Tristan got out of English. Zoe had her spare period then, and I knew she would be there doing homework. 

“Mornin’, Zo!” I said casually, pulling my messenger bag off of my shoulder and slinging it over the back of a chair. 

She glanced up from the assignment she was working on, bored. “Morning,” She sighed uncaringly, then went back to her work. 

Zoe and I had spent a decent amount of time together since Tristan and I had gotten together sophomore year. She always put on a really neutral face, pretending like she could care less about whether I lived or died. Tristan and I had decided she was still bitter that I’d ended up with him after she’d tried so hard. Surprisingly, Maya had been the first one to be okay with everything. Zoe just didn’t give up her pride so easily. 

Deep down, though, Zoe was Tristan’s friend, and I was Tristan’s boyfriend, and through default, we were kind of friends.

“…What are you working on?” I asked conversationally, lowering myself into my chair. 

“Psych.” 

“Oh. Cool…” I said. She didn’t say anything else. Okay, maybe we weren’t really _friends_ friends. 

“You finish the physics lab?” 

She smirked, and looked up at me. “He’s not in class, you know?”

“…What?” 

“Tristan. He’s in the prop room, practicing for his audition tonight.” 

“For what?” I felt my cheeks heat up a bit, panicked at the thought that I’d missed something important in Tristan’s life. He would never forget to mention an audition to me.

“Hello… The play…?” Zoe said rudely. “Seriously, Miles? He’s been talking about this for weeks.”

I was hurt. “Not to me!”

“You want my advice,” She smirked smartly. “Go to the prop room, and pretend like you’ve known what was going on this entire time.” 

I nodded, quickly getting up and grabbing my bag. As I was rushing away, she called after me, “Happy Birthday, by the way!” 

I rushed to the prop room, pushing the door open to find Tristan pacing through the aisles of junk, muttering something to himself. 

“Hey,” I said confidently. Tristan looked up with a start. “Do you want me to help you run lines?”

He looked confused. “No… I was just doing my English reading.” He said defensively.

Then I realized: he had deliberately not told me about his audition. 

“Tris… What’s going on?” I gently demanded. “Zoe said auditions for the play are tonight.” 

Tristan sighed heavily. The jig was up. “I didn’t want to tell you,” He admitted. “It’s your birthday. You just, like, became a _millionaire_. Today wasn’t supposed to be about me.” 

I laughed weakly. “That’s ridiculous, okay? Let me help you run lines.” 

He hesitated, smiling softly, then held his script out to me.

“ _The Crucible_ …” I read the cover out loud as I took it from him. 

“Yeah.” He laughed nervously. “Some pretty heavy stuff. I think Zoe’s a shoe-in for the Winona Ryder part…” 

“And you?” 

“Daniel Day Lewis…?” He admitted timidly. 

I nodded, flipping through the pages. “Thankfully, drama club’s not one to type cast, right? Didn’t you say you played Juliet in grade nine?” 

Tristan groaned. “Yeah. Because I wasn’t manly enough to play Romeo.” 

He turned away from me and plopped down on one of the prop room’s couches, clearly distraught. I sighed, and walked up behind him. I set the script on the cushion next to him, and instinctively started massaging his shoulders. 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” I said lightly. “You’ll make a great Daniel Day-Lewis.”  

“Mhmm…” He hummed, clearly not convinced. I took my hands away, and walked around to the front of the couch, sitting down next to him. I wasn’t sure what else to say, so I put my hand on top of his, playing with his fingers a bit, waiting for him to talk. 

“So… is it done, then?” He asked. I realized after a split second that he’d changed the subject. “You, like, signed everything?” 

I took a deep breath. Still wasn’t fully able to process the reality of the situation. “Um…yeah…” 

Tristan nodded. It was a supportive nod. Nothing about the way he was looking at me suggested that he was terribly excited about the fact that I had money now. As he turned his hand to face upward, weaving his fingers in with mine, I felt completely secure in the fact that he truly loved me for me, not that I’d had many doubts before.

“I love you.” I told him. 

He grinned smugly. “You’re not so bad yourself.” 

I laughed as he leaned in to kiss me gently. “Happy birthday.” He said as we pulled apart. “Have I said that yet?” 

I smirked, “Like you don’t remember calling me at midnight _just_ as I was about to fall asleep.”

He shrugged. “Hey. I’m your boyfriend. It’s my job.” 

I laughed. “Come here,” We kissed again, for longer this time.

“I really do want to help you practice for your audition,” I breathed. 

Tristan shook his head, a dark, seductive look in his eyes. “Later.” 

I chuckled, and went back in for more. 

 

——-

That day, after school, I stood at the back of the gym as Tristan read his monologue for the director: this grade eleven named Dillon who I’d never spoken to before in my life. He was this skinny redhead who wore thick plastic glasses and a jean jacket with patches. I watched him carefully as he watched Tristan take the stage, and decided immediately that I didn’t like him. The way he sat behind his little table, his hand on his chin as if he was contemplatively stroking some invisible beard, rubbed me the wrong way. I was good at reading body language, and I could just tell this guy was a jerk. 

Tristan pasted on a smile as he went to the center of the stage. If he disliked this guy as much as I already did, he wasn’t allowed to show it. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” Dillon said. 

And then, Tristan bowed his head, taking a deep breath. When he looked up, he was completely transformed. He _was_ John Proctor. I felt the hairs on my arms stick up, enchanted by the magic he was making. He performed perfectly, delivering every line completely organically. By the time he was done, my cheeks hurt from smiling. I was so proud to call him my boyfriend. 

However, Dillon wasn’t smiling. He nodded apathetically, writing something down in his notebook. “Thank you…” 

Tristan kept his smile on, but his eyes were filled with disappointment. I could tell he was hoping for more immediate praise. 

“No, thank _you_ ,” He said weakly, then climbed down toward the stage, quickly approaching me. I put and arm around him as I guided him out of the auditorium. 

“Tris, that was awesome.” I told him. 

But I could tell he didn’t believe me. It took a lot of self restraint not to march up to this Dillon kid and give him a piece of my mind. 

“Whatever,” Tristan mumbled, as we emerged into the hallway. “There’s nothing we can do now but wait. A lot of directors keep a poker face, anyway.” 

Suddenly, my phone went off. I pulled it out of my pocket, and read the quick text, from my mom: _“What time will you be home? Just picked up your cake.”_

I guess my parents weren’t going to avoid my birthday after all. 

“Well, I’m sure cake from the finest bakery in Toronto will distract you from the grueling anticipation,” I teased. 

Tristan laughed. “Another awkward Hollingsworth dinner party?” He cooed. “I’m so in.”

“Do you think I could get away with blowing it off?” I asked sheepishly.

He put his arm around me and gave me a squeeze. “Look, as much as I was hoping I could use tonight to spoil you, it wouldn’t be right of me to steal you from your parents entirely.”

I sighed heavily. I knew he was right, but all I wanted was to be alone with him, to talk about the future; to talk about Paris. Now that his audition was over, we would really be able to focus. I didn’t have the patience for my parents right now.

“Hey,” He grabbed me by the shoulders, and looked me square in the eye. “It’s gonna be a good night, I promise.” He gave me a light kiss. 

“I know.” 

 

——-

 

Tristan gently held onto my arm as we made our way through the courtyard. The fact that he was there was making it easier that I was going to have to spend time with my parents tonight. 

“So, they know, right?” Tristan said uneasily. “I mean, I know you said your grandma took you this morning. Your parents know that you really made it official?” 

I laughed cynically. “I mean, I didn’t try to keep it a secret…” 

As we approached the door, we could hear my parents voices coming from inside. It took me a second to realize that they were arguing. 

“Of course…” I told Tristan. “It wouldn’t be a celebration without drama.” 

“So what do you plan on doing?” My mother was wailing. “You’re just gonna leave it on the side of the road in front of our house?” 

“Do you have a better idea?” My dad shouted back at her. 

“Yeah. Put it back. It’s _his_ stuff, Miles!” There was a hint of laughter in her voice, to show him he was being completely ridiculous. I let go of Tristan and stepped closer to the glass doors, hoping to figure out what they were talking about.  

“Well, he can buy his own stuff now, can’t he?” My dad hissed. My stomach dropped, as I suddenly realized exactly what they were talking about. 

I burst into the living room. My dad was standing in the middle of the room, holding my macbook in one hand.

“What the hell!?” I yelled. “What are you doing?” 

My mother massaged her forehead. “He’s not doing anything. Happy Birthday, sweetie.” 

“Dad,” I urged, my voice shaking. “Why do you have my computer?”

I heard Tristan entering behind me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. Even though he and I didn’t have any secrets, it was still humiliating when he witnessed such powerful examples of Hollingsworth family dysfunction.  

“ _Your_ computer?” My dad laughed. “I’m sorry. Did _you_ dish out fifteen _hundred_ dollars for this?” He was waving it carelessly in the air. “I’ve paid for everything you own.” He lowered the laptop, then tossed it carelessly onto the couch. “You have _nothing_.” 

“This couldn’t have waited until tomorrow…” My mother mumbled, gripping the back of the couch as if she was about to collapse from exhaustion. 

“Why wait until tomorrow?” My dad laughed. “He has his money _today_! …So, Miles,” He smirked wickedly at me. “Why don’t you go out and get a nice suite at the Hilton. You don’t need to be here anymore, do you?” 

My heart was pounding. I’d known my father wasn’t cool with me taking the money, but I wasn’t expecting _this,_ of all things. Was he throwing me out? Was he expecting me to put my own life together overnight? I mean, in a way, he was right. That was exactly what I was asking for. When faced with it so suddenly, though, I was paralyzed with fear. I could hardly argue with him.

“Dad, I…” I stammered, not sure what I should say. Then, my Mom spoke for me.

“It’s his _birthday._ ” She snapped, her voice low and authoritative. “He’s sleeping here. In _his_ bed.” 

Her tone must have scared him, at least slightly, because he calmed down. He watched me for a minute, his eyes narrowed, his breathing heavy. Then, he pointed a finger at me, said, “One night. Then, you’re gone,” then stormed out of the room. 

Tristan, Mom and I were quiet for a long moment. Tristan came up behind me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. 

“There’s food waiting for us in the dining room…” Mom said quietly. “Your brother and sister… I just called for them, so they should be down any minute…” 

I couldn’t look her in the eye. 

“Miles…” She said, her voice getting quieter. “You’re welcome here for as long as you’d like to stay. You know that, right?” 

I looked over at my computer, which was still on the couch. I realized that my Dad was right. It had never really been mine. None of this had been. “No. It’s fine.” Tristan’s hand slowly slid off my shoulder. I could tell he was surprised that I was backing down so easily. “I’ll be out tonight.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles and Tristan have a belated and much-needed celebration for Miles's birthday.

My hands were sweaty as I pulled my wallet out of the pockets of my jeans, so much so that it took a couple tries to pull my credit card out. I tiredly handed it to the guy behind the desk in the hotel lobby. As he swiped it, I turned to Tristan, who was standing behind me with his backpack slung over his shoulder. He looked into my eyes, giving a sympathetic frown. He took a step closer to me, placing his hand on my lower back.

"Here you go, Mr. Hollingsworth," The guy handed me my card, along with a set of room keys. "Don't hesitate to call if you need anything."

"Thank you," Tristan told him pleasantly. I forced a smile of agreement.

We'd ended up at the Park Hyatt. I'd thought of it because we'd stayed their a few nights when I was a kid, and my mom was getting our floors redone. I'd never forgotten how good the room service was, and automatically thought of it when searching for a place to regroup. While I knew my grandmother would have happily put me up if I'd asked her too, what right did I have to be a burden on her when she'd just given me every reason not to be a burden on anybody. Besides, Grandma would have never let Tristan sleep over. It wasn't that she wasn't supportive of us, she was just old fashioned in a different sense. It wouldn't have been any different if Frankie had asked if Winston could spend the night. I respected her rules, but it was my birthday, and given the day's traumatic events, I couldn't bring myself to sleep alone. Luckily, Tristan's parents weren't the type to keep tabs on him. He could stay with me all night at the hotel, and nobody would notice or mind.

Tristan guided me down the long hallway, our sneakers squeaking on the marble floors. On any other occasion, we would be absolutely giddy to be approaching a nice, private hotel room. We would be goofing off, giggling like children. Tonight, both of us were quiet and somber, barely saying a word as we got into the elevator.

As we rode up to the fifth floor, Tristan linked his arm through mine and rested his chin on my shoulder. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, legitimately comforted by the fact that he was close to me.

"I love you," He whispered, then lightly kissed the side of my face, near my jawline. A wave of emotion came over me, and I felt my lower lip tremble. Tristan noticed immediately, and held onto my arm more tightly.

"Hey…" He said gently. "It's going to be okay."

I knew he was right. How could it not be okay? It wasn't like I was going to drop dead if my father wasn't talking to me. It's not like we'd had a great relationship anyway. What was I really giving up?

But as we entered the hotel room, I realized what I was giving up. I flashed back to the day I moved into my dorm at the International school. It had been such a cold and uninviting space… lifeless in a way. Completely void of personality. That's how the hotel room felt. It didn't really belong to anyone. Even if I spent every night of my life here, it would never belong to me. It wasn't the room I'd spent eighteen years of my life making my own.

Tristan strolled over to the king-sized bed, setting his backpack on top of it.

"It's nice," He said half-heartedly, looking around at the simplistic decorations. He looked back at me, quickly picking up on my dissatisfaction. "…And temporary."

I nodded. "Yeah. I'll hit up one of my grandma's bored-housewife-turned-realtor friends in the morning."

I followed him to the bed, wrapping my arms around him from behind, and burying my face in the back of his neck. He brought his hands up and placed them on my arms, holding them in place. After a moment of me leaning into him, he gently grabbed my wrists, removing himself from my grip, and turning around to face me. He frowned thoughtfully, quietly touching his palm to my cheek. Then, he kissed me lightly.

"What can I do?" He asked me. "I mean. What do you want us to do tonight? It's still early, and it's still your birthday."

"Honestly?" I told him after I'd had a second to think about it. "I just want a grilled cheese sandwich."

He grinned adorably at me, grabbing my shoulders. "Then a grilled cheese sandwich you shall get."

I bowed my head, smiling sadly. "Thanks, Tris."

"Don't mention it," He kissed me on the top of the head, then pulled me into a tight bear hug. It was the type of secure hold that made me feel like he wanted to be attached to me forever. Nothing in the world made me feel safer. 

\-----

We got room service delivered, and turned on Nick at Nite, watching stupid Full House reruns while we ate. Once the food was gone, we brushed the crumbs off the duvet and climbed underneath it. Tristan took me in his arms, and we fell asleep like that. Neither of us was in the mood to do anything more.

I must have been sleeping more deeply than I thought, because I didn't feel him get out of bed. When I woke up around 6:30 the next morning, he was sitting at the room's desk, his knees pulled to his chest, looking at something on his phone. As far as I knew, he had been there for a while. His brow was furrowed intensely, and I was immediately concerned.

"Is everything alright?" I said groggily, propping myself up on my elbows.

Tristan nearly jumped out of his skin. He set his phone down on the desk, and quickly crossed back to the bed.

"Yeah. It's fine." He laid beside me and ran his hand through my hair. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

There was a sort of tension to his voice, though. I knew him better than to let it go. "Tris, come on…"

"Miles, I told you." He sounded frustrated. "I'm not what matters right now."

Suddenly, I knew what was going on. "You found out about the play."

He hesitated. "I'm Reverend Hale. It's a good part, but…"

I grabbed his hand. "…It's not the part you wanted."

"Is it totally ridiculous that I care?"

"No. Not at all," I told him. I could tell by the sheepish look on his face that he felt bad that we were talking about the play. Honestly, though, I wanted to hear about his problems. I wanted him to focus on his life, so I didn't feel like such a burden for having so many issues of my own. "Look, do you want me to…"

"Beat Dillon up?" He rolled his eyes, smirking. "Don't even think about it."

He leaned in and gave me a quick kiss. I smiled into it.

"Besides," He went on. "I've dealt with this kind of disappointment before. The only way to deal with it is to own the opportunities you do get."

I nodded. "You're gonna be fantastic."

We kissed again, for a while longer this time. Tristan squirmed on the bed a bit so that he was lying more comfortably next to me.

"When do rehearsals start?" I asked him once we'd pulled away from one another.

Tristan's face scrunched up regretfully. "Tonight…?" He said, as if he was asking my permission.

"Awesome." I reassured him.

"Are you going to be okay?" He asked me, running his hand along my arm.

"What, spending a couple hours by myself? I think I'll manage."

He still looked concerned. "It's just…"

"Tristan, I'm a big boy," I told him. "I need to go back to the house anyway after school and grab some stuff I forgot. It'll actually be easier if I'm alone, and do it ask quietly as possible."

He nodded. "Okay. And then we'll meet back here for dinner?"

"Absolutely," I grinned. I realized I kind of liked playing house with him.

"Alright. Now get out of bed," He gave me a playful shove. "You were already late for school once this week."

As he slid off the mattress, making his way to the bathroom, I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow. I had forgotten about school.

\-----

Fortunately, I made it through the day. As expected, however, I retained zero percent of the knowledge that I was supposed to retain.

I called grandma during my study hall.

"I don't know if you've heard," I told her. "But I'm looking for a place."

"I didn't hear," She sighed. "But I can't say I'm surprised."

"Yeah, well, you know people who can help." I reminded her. "I want to give them my business."

"Respectable." She approved. "I'll set something up for this weekend.

"Thanks, Grandma!" I was truly thrilled to have her an as ally.

"Hey… Miles?" She spoke up again, before I could end the conversation.

"Yeah?"

"Your father will come around. Give him time."

I didn't quite believe her, but I didn't want to think about it, or talk about it anymore. "Thanks, Grandma."

"I'll call you later this week. I love you."

"Love you too. Bye."

After that conversation, I felt like I had an important task checked off my list. One step at a time, I was going to be okay. All that was left was going home after school to get my things.

I didn't want much from the house. Tristan and I had grabbed most of the important stuff before we'd left the night before. It was basically everything that reminded me of him, and nothing that reminded me of my parents.

Most of my things were replaceable, and it really didn't matter if my dad got rid of them. However, my life would be a lot easier if I didn't have to go on an emergency shopping trip to replenish my entire wardrobe. I liked the clothes I had, and I thought I could sneak in before my dad got home from work, and take a few of my favorite things.

I thought wrong. When I got to the house, I went to put my key in the front door, and found that it no longer worked.

In the twenty-four hours since he had thrown me out, my dad had gotten the locks changed. Son of a bitch.

I was hit by an instant wave of anger as I backed away from the door. My heart was pounding. I felt light headed. It was one thing to ask me to move out, but to actually change the locks was an even lower blow. I couldn't believe I hadn't realized that he could take things one step further. Was he trying to cut me out of the family completely?

Thinking quickly, I rushed next door, to the Gilmores' house. Mom had always had them keep a spare key, for emergencies. I climbed up to their stoop and leaned on the doorbell. After several agonizing moments, Mrs. Gilmore answered the door, her face lighting up when she saw me.

"Miles!" She beamed. "How are you!?"

"Not great," I said quickly. "Look, do you know anything about the new locks on my house?"

"Oh, of course," She said nonchalantly. "Your mother was here around noon. She said Hunter lost his keys at lacrosse practice, and they wanted to take precaution…?"

The way she said it, I could tell she was assuming I already knew the reason, and was merely confirming for the sake of conversation.

"Yeah." I said dryly. "That was it."

"I think she was expecting to pick you up at school," Mrs. Gilmore told me, killing me with her obliviousness. "Otherwise, I'm sure she would have gotten you a key before you came home."

"You have a spare key, though," I asked impatiently. "Don't you?"

She shook her head apologetically. "Your mother was sending Marcela to the hardware store to get copies made…"

I looked back over to my house, frustrated. Marcela was our housekeeper, and her car wasn't in the driveway either.

"You're welcome to wait here until one of them gets home. Really, it should be any minute."

"Thanks," I said, stepping through the doorway. I knew waiting for my mom was the best option here. I needed to give her a piece of my mind.

I was barely over the threshold before Mrs. Gilmore began interrogating me.

"So, we haven't seen you at services…"

"What?" I had no idea what she was talking about.

"Since Christmas eve!"

I realized she was talking about church. "Oh. Yeah…"

I walked into the house, the layout of which was similar to ours if not identical. I stood in front of the large window in their foyer, where I had a clear view of our driveway. I needed to be ready to pounce when my mom got home.

"You know, you're welcome to come with us again…" She suggested warmly. I couldn't believe she was still on this. "Any time you want. Just pop on over here around 9 on Sunday."

Without even turning to look at her, I said the only thing I could think of to shut her up: "Can I bring my boyfriend?"

"…Pardon?" Her voice broke again as she said it. She must have thought she heard me wrong.

I kept my eyes on the window, silent.

"Um…" She hesitated. I could tell she didn't want to repeat what I'd said, just in case she'd heard me wrong. "Why don't I make us some tea?"

Before she could leave the room, though, I saw a familiar SUV coming up the street. Marcela.

"Thanks for everything, Ms. G," I said wryly, patting her on the shoulder. Then, I left as quickly as I could.

"Hey!" I shouted at Marcela as I ran across the lawn. She pretended not to hear me as she gathered a couple of grocery bags from the trunk. "Marcela! I know you can hear me."

She shook her head, slamming the trunk, and starting up the driveway.

"Damn it," I muttered to myself, and broke into a sprint so I could beat her to the door. She kept her head bowed, walking briskly, like she had a chance of beating me. Spoiler alert: she didn't.

I threw myself up against the door, sprawled out as if I'd chained myself to it. She merely sighed impatiently.

"Miles…" She said sternly. "These are heavy."

Marcela wasn't young, but she wasn't old. She was maybe in her late-thirties, and she'd only been with us since I'd moved back from boarding school. It wasn't as if she was this cherished staff member who'd raised me. I had no problem disregarding her as an authority figure.

"Give me one of those new keys, and I'll let you go inside." I negotiated.

She blinked at me, bored. "Your father's pissed off."

"I don't care. Give me the key."

"He told me not to let you steal anything else from him."

"Oh my god." I was genuinely disgusted that he'd gotten her involved.

"Miles," She continued, a bit more gently. She sounded vaguely apologetic. "He said you walked of with four hundred dollars worth of stuff last night. Now, I know there must be more to the story, but you're not the one who pays me. Frankly, there's nothing I can do here… Now, please move."

I didn't. "What time is my mom getting home?"

"Later."

"Well, would you just let me wait here and talk to her?" I pleaded. Then, desperately searching my mind for a compromise, I suggested: "Let me wait in the pool house. I promise I won't steal the towels."

She bit her lip, contemplating. She shifted her arms a bit to redistribute the weight of her bags. I could tell she would have done anything at that point to be able to put them down.

"Fine," She said, starting down the stoop so we could go around the outside of the house. "But if anyone asked, you threatened my life."

I waited in the pool house for the better part of an hour. I was too restless to sit, so I just paced back and forth, knowing Marcela would send my mom in when she got home. Sure enough, I was eventually greeted by a soft knocking on the door.

I froze. Before I could answer, my mother had entered. She looked nervous, and tired, like she'd been up all night worrying about me. Either that, or she was putting on that face so I'd feel sorry for her, and decide she was a decent person.

"Miles…" She said breathily, frowning and shaking her head. "Listen, I…"

I interrupted. "I don't want to hear it! The locks!? Really!?"

"Honey," She clasped both hands to her chest. "I am powerless here."

"No!" I pointed at her. "I am sick of that excuse. You're no better than he is."

She stared at her feet, shaking her head. "Your father just wants you to grow up right. He's giving you a nudge that he thinks you need. We discussed this, and…"

"…And you agree with him." Perfect.

"I don't want to pick sides."

"Hate to break it to you," I scoffed. "But you kind of have. You know, I don't care if I can't live here. I'm looking for my own place, and I'm going to be fine. And I don't really care if I see you, but you should know that if you don't see me under this roof, you're not going to see me at all. Are you really okay with that? Are you okay with shutting me out completely?"

She finally looked up at me again, her mouth downturned in a dark pout. Her lip began to quiver, and I could see her eyes clouding up. I felt a powerful rush of victory. I couldn't quite explain it, and I would probably regret the feeling later, but in that moment, it felt so good to see her cry.

"Miles…" She tried hoarsely. I realized there was nothing either of us had left to say.

I threw my arms up, heading toward the door. "I'm over it, Mom." I huffed.

"Miles!" She cried after me, scrambling to find her voice again.

"I'm done!" And with that, I walked out of the pool house, slamming the door behind me.

\-----

I returned to the hotel nearly an hour before Tristan did. I sat down at the desk, and pulled out my history homework, knowing that, at some point, I would have to start caring about school again. I was fooling myself, though, to think today would be the day that would happen.

I heard Tristan scuffling around in the hall at about 5:30. I sprung out of my chair, and went to meet him as he came through the door.

"Honey, I'm home," He said adorably, giving me a very domestic kiss. I felt like a 1950s housewife, and I kind of liked it. "How'd everything go today? Did you get your stuff."

I shook my head, embarrassed. "But hey," I added quickly, trying to keep the mood light. "All I really need is you."

Tristan laughed tauntingly. "Oh god, you are such a dork."

We kissed again, slowly.

"You know…" Tristan said, keeping me in his arms. "We haven't really properly celebrated your birthday. I actually still need to give you your present."

I felt bad that I legitimately hadn't thought about the fact that he hadn't gotten me anything. "I get a present?"

"Not if you don't want it…" He teased. "Not if all you really need is me."

I laughed. "I mean, I wouldn't want your incredible thoughtfulness to go to waste."

"Right." He agreed. "So, put on a nice shirt. I made us dinner reservations."

I did what he said, and put on a Calvin Klein button-down that I'd gotten months before. Before I knew it, we were out the door.   
Tristan lead me down the street, onto the streetcar without hesitation. He didn't say much the whole way there. Every time I asked him where we were going, he just grinned, told me he loved me, and kissed me. I knew he was trying to distract me, and it was working. After a while, I started insisting he tell me, just so he would kiss me again. Before long, we were straight up making out on public transportation. We were never big on that whole modesty thing.

We ended up at this upscale French restaurant downtown. When we walked through the doors, Tristan marched right up to the maitre d', casually leaning against his podium.

"Reservation for Milligan." He said coolly, a smug look on his face. I couldn't help but laugh. I loved when he tried to impress me.  
"Of course," The maitre d' said, shooting me a knowing look. "Your meal is nearly ready."

He began leading us to our table, and I noticed he hadn't grabbed any menus. Tristan must have ordered ahead of time. I liked the fact that he had made such a grand plan, and I was dying to know all the details.

"What's going on, Tris?" I asked.

Tristan shrugged coyly. "He's seating us. What else would be going on?"

We approached a table in the corner of the restaurant. The maitre d' pulled my chair out, for me to sit down. As I lowered myself into my seat, I took a good look a round. The place was dimly lit, but not to the point where you couldn't see each other. There were candles on the tables, on top of green linen table cloths. There was no music playing, just the sounds of hushed conversations and silverware clanking on glass. Everything seemed subdued and peaceful, and although I couldn't put my finger on it, something about the space seemed weirdly familiar.

"Now, I know what you're thinking," Tristan said as he sat down across from me.

"I'm not thinking anything." I insisted. I honestly hadn't figured out what he was doing, but the endless possibilities excited me.

"You're thinking you're going to have to pay for this." Tristan smirked. The money of it all hadn't yet crossed my mind. I guess it really wasn't an object for me anymore. "I've been saving up my dog sitting money for a year. You're not losing a cent."

And suddenly, I felt bad. I opened my mouth to object, to tell him that I didn't want him doing too much for me. Before I could speak, he interjected.

"Miles. You have to let me do this." He said bluntly, leaning back and crossing his arms, a playful but challenging look in his eye.

Suddenly, a waiter showed up, carrying a cube-shaped box on a silver platter. It was wrapped in glossy white paper, a navy blue ribbon tied around it.

"As per your request," The waiter said to Tristan. Then, he turned to me. "We'll start with a gift."

I stared at the gift for a moment in disbelief before taking it off the platter. Tristan must have come here ahead of time and dropped it off. He was so sneaky.

Tristan nervously beamed at me as the waiter quietly walked away.

"I should open this now…?" I asked, just to confirm. Tristan nodded excitedly.

I slowly untied the ribbon, then lifted the top of the box off. It took me a minute to figure out what I was looking at. Tristan took a deep breath, then began to explain.

"Do you remember? When we were in Paris, and we paired up for that project. And Cliquet gave us, like, four hours to kill?" Tristan's voice seemed strained as he talked. I could tell he'd rehearsed what he was going to say when I opened it, so I just nodded, letting him go on, hanging onto his every word, because I didn't want to interrupt. I wanted to know exactly what he had been planning on saying to me, word for word.

"We ended up wandering; going shop to shop. And there was that one we went into…"

He trailed off, knowing I could finish the rest of the story myself.

It was the first real time he and I spent together. We'd ended up at this little boutique, just to sort of poke around. While he searched for "the perfect blazer," I absentmindedly picked up a pair of leather driving gloves and tried them on. Tristan saw, and laughed at me, making some joke about how the only people who owned driving gloves were "old money." He said they were pretentious, but in the best way possible, and cackled as he posted a picture of me wearing them on Instagram.

"Are these…?" I started to ask, picking the gloves from the box. They were cool and smooth in my hands. I would have never actually bought them in Paris. Now, in context, they were the best thing ever.

"The same gloves?" He answered. "No. I found them in a thrift shop on Queen Street. But I liked them, because they reminded me of that day. They reminded me of you… and the day I really fell for you…"

"Yeah. Um. That was when we had our first kiss." A sad smile came over my face. I remembered how clueless I had been. "I was too dumb to kiss back."

"You've more than made up for it." He said sincerely.

I shook my head. "Tris… I don't know if I ever will."

He reached over the table, and grabbed my hand. "I have you now. Sure, I had to watch you make out with a lot of girls along the way, but I have you now."

"I love you," I told him, meaning it more than I ever had. I was so sorry that I'd ever taken him for granted.

With that, another waiter approached and placed two plates of beautifully garnished foie gras in front of us. Suddenly, I knew what Tristan had wanted to show me.

"This place was the closest thing I could find…" He told me. "…to the place you took me to. The one where we got foie gras for the class… I wanted to bring you somewhere that would remind us both of that first day. And I just want you to know that, whether or not you feel like you wasted time, no memory with you is a bad one, not even when I didn't quite have you. I've loved every minute I've spent with you."

I couldn't believe him. I was overwhelmed; speechless. I knew that what Tristan was trying to say was that the way he loved me was unconditional. Even if I didn't want to be with him, he would keep loving me in whatever way I would have let him. The romance was secondary in our relationship. It was this perk to a deeper, and way more powerful bond. Both of us had fallen in love with the best friend we would ever have, and we were so grateful for that.

"I take it you like all of this." Tristan said after a long moment of baffled silence.

I tried to speak, but choked on my words. I wanted to tell him that I loved all of it. I loved him. I knew the second I opened my mouth, though, I'd start to cry. I knew Tristan could tell, because he held my hand a little tighter.

"Stop. You're gonna make me cry," He warned, fanning his face, and forcing a laugh to try to prevent it.

"Good," I laughed, tears coming to my eyes. "Then I won't be the only dude crying in public."

"…Taking me down with you," He shook his head. "Real mature, Miles."

I laughed again. The mood had lifted significantly, and I felt like I could breath again. He and I just looked at each other. Then, suddenly, I thought about home. I thought about my parents. I don't know what took me out of the moment, but I randomly remembered that my life wasn't perfect. Did I really have a reason to feel as good as I did?

I must have had a reason, because I still felt good. Even though I was thinking about them, I didn't care about what had happened anymore. Tristan and I were together, and we finally had the freedom to live our lives however we pleased. Together. I could wake up next to him every morning if I wanted to.

It was this realization that drove me to say what I said next.

"Move in with me."

Tristan froze. His face slowly fell as he processed what he had heard.

"Excuse me?"

And I wondered if I had made a huge mistake…


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles and Tristan make several important decisions about their future.

Tristan was watching me, a panicked expression on his face. He swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the restaurant, probably paranoid that someone had overheard, and was expecting him to jump up excitedly and accept the offer. I swear, I felt like one of those guys in the "failed proposal" videos. I could tell I'd put him on the spot.

My stomach was in my throat. Yes, it was very clear now. I had messed up. There was a time and a place to ask someone to live with you, and this was, apparently, not it.

"I was kidding," I said quickly, picking up my knife and fork and cutting into the tender meat in front of me. "Man, this looks good."

Tristan narrowed his eyes, suspicious as he picked up his own silverware. "You're… kidding?"

I couldn't look him in the eye. I knew the moment I did, it would be all the more obvious that I was lying to him. I continued to praise the meal. Praising the meal seemed safe. "Really. I can't believe you did this. This is perfect."

I took a bite, chewing slowly, and starring down at my plate. I briefly considered impaling myself with my fork, that's how sorry I was that I'd screwed this night up.

"Miles," Tristan said gently. "We can talk about this after dinner, okay? If it's something you seriously want to talk about."

I looked up at him. He gave me a small, uncertain smile. I could tell that, in some sense, he was keeping his mind open. That made me feel only slightly better.

"Yeah. Sure. Sounds good."

The rest of the meal was practically unbearable. We attempted to make conversation as we ate, but the pressure to talk about pleasant, emotionally light things was too much for either of us. The food was good, but I hardly tasted it. I was too busy thinking about what I'd just said; how was I going to explain it to him.

I hadn't been joking, I did want to live with him. I wanted to come home to him at the end of the day. I wanted to take turns making each other dinner. I wanted to fall asleep watching reruns with him every night. I wanted us to have a place of our own. I wanted to fix leaky faucets and paint hallways with him. I wanted to wake up, and put his clothes on by mistake. I wanted us to share everything. He was the only person I wanted to share anything with.

I had thought that he felt the same way. He seemed to love me enough to want that. Now, I wasn't so sure.

After the foie gras, and a dessert of wonderful gourmet cheesecake, Tristan paid the bill, as promised. I tucked my gift box under my arm, and we left, holding hands as we went. He held my hand the whole way back to the hotel, which was comforting. It was as if he was promising that no matter what we talked about tonight, everything was going to be okay.

When we were back in the room, we took our shoes off and hung up our coats in silence. I don't think either of us knew how to re-open the conversation.

Tristan walked over to the bed, and sat down. I figured that was a good place to start; sitting. It made everything seem safer, more… civil? It helped assure me that this wasn't going to turn into an argument. I sat down next to him.

"So…" He said awkwardly. "You want to live together?"

"Look, Tris, I'm sorry," I started spewing out words before I could really put them together. "I thought that it was something we both wanted."

"Of course I want it," Tristan said gently, touching my arm. "You've just never brought it up before."

"Yeah," I was frustrated, because I knew the only issue here was how randomly I'd approached the subject. "I had to ruin a perfect dinner by being an impulsive idiot."

"Stop it," Tristan said quickly, warning me that I was being ridiculous. "Nothing was ruined. I hate that you still beat yourself up over these things."

"I'm not," I said defensively. "I just… I know you wanted it to be perfect."

"It was perfect." He said firmly. "We don't even have to talk about dinner anymore. Let's move ahead, okay?"

I nodded, taking a deep breath. This wasn't an argument. I had to remind myself again. We were going to be okay no matter what.

Tristan continued, "I hate that you're alone here. Seriously, I can't imagine leaving you by yourself. But… that scares me. Do you get that? Before all this happened with your parents…" He trailed off for a second, then regrouped. "I mean, I want to go to college. I know you're not asking me to sacrifice that, but… I guess I'm not sure if you're saying we have to go to the same school now, or… I don't know. What are you really asking me?"

He was asking me a direct question. I wasn't sure I had the direct answer. I started feeling even dumber. I hadn't thought through any of the implications.

So, I told the truth: "I don't know."

Tristan sighed, frustrated. "I just really want to be with you. And I know I'll want to be with you in four years, but… god. Living together? Like. How would that work? Would it be temporary?"

"I don't know."

"Would we get a place in Toronto for now, then split up when the time came? Cause that would be really hard."

"I don't know!" I snapped.

"I know you don't know," He said impatiently. "You don't have to know now. I just… I want to work on this. These are questions we should know the answer to."

"It could work," I told him, because I knew that much. "I don't have any plans for next year. I could just do whatever you do."

"You mean, go to whatever school I go to?" He asked. "I didn't think either of us wanted to end up at a school we hated, just because one of us wanted to go. I mean, isn't that what we decided?"

"Well, that was when both of us were going to college." I said rationally. "It's different now, remember?"

"What? Because you can afford to just sit around the house all day? Miles, you don't want that. You deserve a life. So do I. I want them to include each other, but I don't want either of us feeling like we can't have more than that."

I nodded. He had some really good points, but my heart still felt broken. I truly respected what he wanted, but it still hurt knowing that I didn't fit into his plans as well as he fit into mine.

"I know you don't think you want to go to school, but there are still a lot of places taking applications. I think you should think about finding something. You don't have to do anything your dad would approve of, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't do something."

Like that, I was instantly mad at him. I felt kind of attacked. This wasn't a fight, but I was ready to put my fists up.

"Gee, Tristan," I said, frustrated. "You think I don't know that? Do something. Obviously, I'm gonna do something."

I stood up, and began walking aimlessly across the room.

"Calm down," He told me quietly. " Look, I know you think that you know what you want…"

"You sound just like my dad!" I snapped, turning back to face him.

Tristan clenched his jaw, staring at the carpet. He had said everything there was to say.

"Some birthday…" I mumbled.

Tristan immediately looked up at me, fire in his eyes. "You haven't ruined this night yet, but if you keep talking, you're gonna get really close."

His intensity brought me down a notch. I quickly realized that I had no right to compare him to my father. Tristan genuinely cared about me, and the way he went about expressing his opinions reflected that. I was just getting worked up, like I often did, but Tristan didn't deserve these outbursts.

"I'm sorry." I took a breath. "I… I didn't mean that."

"Maybe I should sleep at home tonight," Tristan tried. "Maybe we both just need a few hours to relax?"

I couldn't think of anything I wanted less. There was no way I'd come even close to relaxing if I thought whatever problems we were having tonight would still exist in the morning. If he left, if he really needed time away from me, it meant that there were delaying things that needed to be worked out. I just couldn't handle that.

"No. Please stay." I rushed over to the bed, and knelt in front of him, placing my hands on his knees. A rush of adrenaline had come over me, and I was prepared to use every bit of energy I had to convince him not to go. "Tris, I'm so sorry. Just stay tonight. I just… I need you tonight, okay?"

Tristan looked down at me, a deep concern in his eyes. I could tell that even though I'd hurt him, he understood that my anger wasn't about him. That was one of the reasons I loved him. He just got things. He slowly leaned forward, taking me in his arms, and pulling my head to his chest.

"Okay," He said, his fingers in my hair. "…Okay."

\-----

It was a quiet night. After Tristan agreed to stay, we turned on the TV, and changed into our pajamas. We didn't talk anymore, because we didn't have anything left to say. We cuddled, and watched talk shows until sometime around midnight, when we remembered we had school in the morning, and decided to turn everything off, and try to sleep.

I'm not sure how long I was laying there, staring at the ceiling. I listened to the hum of the fan that blew warm air into the room. I stared at the blinking light on the smoke detector. I got annoyed by every pair of footsteps I heard pass our door. I thought about the fight we'd just had, the one that wasn't supposed to be a fight. Even though we'd put it to rest, we still hadn't resolved it. That was killing me.

I rolled onto my side, and looked at Tristan, who was curled up on his side. His eyes were closed, his mouth hanging open slightly. I could tell by the rhythm of his breathing that he wasn't quite asleep yet, so I reached over and lightly touched his face. He inhaled sharply. His eyes flickered open. After looking at me for only a moment, it was clear that he understood exactly what I needed.

I needed to feel closer to him.

Without speaking, he gently draped an arm over me, pulling himself closer to me. Tristan gave me a sad smile, and gently rested his forehead against mine. I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of his breath on my face. Our mouths gradually came together in a slow, wet kiss.

We began removing our clothes in fluid motions that came so naturally, because we'd done this together so many times before. As we continued, and our bare bodies pressed together as we kissed, I got the reassurance that I needed. Nothing could ever break the connection we had, not even having separate addresses for the rest of our lives.

\-----

My grandmother called me around seven the next morning, just as Tristan and I were getting ready to head out. We were sitting on the bed, devouring the last bits of the poached eggs and toast we'd ordered from room service, when my phone started going off.

"Hey," I answered carelessly, wiping my hands on my linen napkin. "What's up?"

"Listen, Miles, I've spoken to my friend Gloria," She started. Then, catching herself, she asked, "Is this a bad time? You're not in class yet, are you?"

"Wouldn't have answered my phone if I was." I teased, carrying my phone to the bathroom so I could comb my hair while I talked.

She sighed, only mildly frustrated by my smart-ass reply.

"I've spoken to my friend Gloria," She repeated. "You remember her? Wears a lot of gaudy jewelry… Used to come with me to take your sister to the ballet…"

I couldn't put the face with the name. Grandma had a lot of friends with gaudy jewelry. I had a vague idea of who she was talking about, though, and I didn't want to complicate things. "Oh. Yeah. Sure."

"Well, she's selling real estate now," As she explained herself, I quickly picked my thick plastic comb from the counter, wet it, and ran it through my hair. "She has an opening in her schedule today at four. Are you busy?"

I didn't even have to think about it. I was never busy. "The sooner I get out of this hotel, the better." I shook my comb off and set it back down.

"You could have stayed with me," She huffed obligatorily.

"I know. It was nice to have a mini vacation, though." I told her, walking out of the bathroom and giving Tristan a knowing grin. After our heated encounter after lights-out the previous night, I was feeling more secure with our relationship than I had in weeks. Tristan dangerously grinned back. The look in his eyes alone almost made me want to throw myself at him again, but then I remembered I was on the phone with my grandmother.

She must have heard something in my voice, because she said, in a hushed tone, "Well, you tell Tristan I say hello."

I laughed, embarrassed. "Okay, Grandma."

"Four O'Clock," She reminded me. "I'll text you the address."

After we hung up, I walked over and sat down next to Tristan. I took his face in both hands, and kissed him hard and passionately. As I pulled away, he raised his eyebrows, intrigued.

"Well, if you want to be late for school…" He agreed suggestively.

I knew I had to stop myself. First period wasn't going to pass itself. I took a deep breath, hesitantly lifting myself off of the bed. "You're right."

"I didn't say I was opposed to being late!" He played.

I shook my head, laughing. I had to change the subject before I lost it.

"So, do you want to go house hunting with Grandma after school?" I asked him, gathering my book bag from the desk. "I mean, I know you're not going to live with me, but I want you to like what I get. I mean, you'll still probably spend a lot of time there, right?"

"Right." He smiled pleasantly, probably relieved that he wouldn't have to reassure me. "But I have a one-on-one with Dillon tonight."

"Ah, should I be jealous?"

Tristan rolled his eyes. "He apparently has big ideas for the character. He says he chose me for my potential, and really wants to get something out of me."

I knew what he meant, but I wanted to be difficult. "So, I should be jealous."

"Stop!" He protested. "He's totally straight."

"So was I…" I reminded him.

He cackled. "Good point. But fortunately, I'm not into him like I was into you."

"Obviously," I shrugged cockily.

Tristan stood up, and came to meet me across the room, slipping his arms around my waist, and pulling me in for another kiss.

"You know you're the only one I want to have one-on-ones with." He told me.

We kissed.

"We really have to go to school," I warned.

He shook his head, kissing me again.

"We've got time."

And I knew there was no arguing with him. I was going to be late again whether I liked it or not.

\-----

"The building was renovated just last year…"

Gloria-the-realtor's hips swayed back and forth as she lead Grandma and I down a long, dimly-lit hallway. For a woman in her seventies, she still handled herself very well in high heels.

"Everything's brand new, you know… state of the art," She was going on. "I know young people like that. You'll see a lot of yuppies in this building."

I nodded seriously, observing my surroundings, trying to get a real feel for the space. Nothing was screaming to me, "this is home." Then again, we hadn't even entered the actual condo yet, so it was possible that I was jumping too quickly to conclusions.

Gloria came to a door at the end of the hall, and slipped a key into the lock.

"Let's see if this is what you're looking for." She pushed the door open, and lead me inside, flicking the lights on as she went.

I was standing in this massive, unfurnished room. The open kitchen, equipped with sturdy-looking stainless steel appliances and a sprawling island with a creme-colored marble countertop. A large picture window spanned the back of the room, giving me what should have seemed like a flawless view of the lake. At the side of the room, a pairing of tall, oak doors lead to god-knows-where. I was overwhelmed, to say the least.

"It's…" I struggled for words. "It's kind of big."

Gloria tried to reason with me. "It's one bedroom."

I shook my head. That didn't seem to matter in this case.

"With your budget, we didn't think you'd want to feel claustrophobic," Grandma explained to me. It occurred to me that the two of them had probably spent the entire day talking about the kinds of places they'd show me.

"It's only about twenty minutes from your school, in traffic," Gloria jumped back in.

"Yeah," Grandma nodded enthusiastically. "We figured you'd have a car soon."

"Well, Degrassi's a public school," I reminded her. "Is this even in the right school district?"

"You have, what? One semester left?" My grandma said. "I hardly think it matters…"

"We'll check." Gloria promised quickly.

I nodded, figuring they were trying their best to accommodate me. I was grateful for their help, and giving the condo a chance was the least I could do. I went to the middle of the room, and turned around a couple times, trying to figure out if there was something to this place that I was missing. There wasn't.

To be honest, I had the same problem with this condo that I had with the hotel. It seemed fake. It felt impersonal. Maybe if it had seemed like a place I could make my own, I wouldn't have a problem with the fact that it was so far from Tristan. Maybe I would have felt like Tristan would love it enough not to mind the commute.

"No." I told Gloria simply. "No, this isn't it."

Gloria nodded understandingly. I was sure she was used to this kind of rejection, and I was impressed that she didn't let it affect her confidence. "There's a high rise about a block over I'd like to take a look at, then."

I cringed. The idea of a "high rise" could not sound less appealing. I realized that one of the things that turned me off was the fact that these spaces were simply stacked on top of each other. Maybe they only felt impersonal because they were so clearly mass produced.

"Can we look at houses?" I asked quickly, cutting them off. "Like. Real houses. Near school?"

My grandma skeptically pursed her lips. "Do you really want to live in a house all by yourself?"

"What's the difference?" I asked shortly.

"I mean, the security here is excellent. You'd have a doorman. You'd have people to, I don't know… interact with in an emergency!"

I shook my head. "I can dial 911 if there's an emergency. And I'd still have neighbors."

Grandma and Gloria exchanged hesitant looks.

"Well," Gloria said slowly, the defeat finally beginning to show on her face. "I don't really know any properties in that area. But I can certainly look into it."

After that, the three of us went back downstairs, and climbed back into Grandma's town car. We'd all been traveling together, and her driver was going to drop both of us off on her way home.

As Grandma was slipping into the seat next to me, she leaned over, whispered, "Good boy. Hold out for the right one," and squeezed my hand.

It was nice to have her encouragement, but I still felt kind of uneasy over the fact that I had wasted an afternoon. I spent the rest of the ride wrapped up in my concerns. What if I never found a place I liked? What if the houses Gloria ended up showing me were just bigger, stand-alone versions of the condo, empty and colorless? What if she ended up being completely incompetent, didn't listen to me at all, and made sure I felt lonely and isolated my entire life?

We pulled up to the hotel, and I kissed Grandma on the cheek before jumping out of the car. As I watched them drive away, I decided that I was going to have to take matters into my own hands.

I still didn't have a computer. I'd been using the school ones during study hall for the absolutely important stuff, but other than that, I was making do with my phone. Fortunately, my Dad hadn't thought to turn it off. When I got back to the suite, I pulled it out and began searching real estate listings.

Nothing was really jumping out at me. Then again, it was hard to get a good look at the pictures on the tiny screen. Even so, taking control like that, and being able to explore my options more independently made me feel free.

"Oh my god," Tristan barged in around seven-thirty, struggling to catch is breath. "First of all, it started to snow." He dropped a stuffed duffel bag on the floor near the bathroom, then quickly took his coat off, shaking the snow off. "Second of all, I stopped at home, and my mother was there."

I eyed the duffel bag skeptically. "You got enough stuff there?"

"Seriously," Tristan laughed. "Did you two talk? Did you agree on what you were going to say?" He came over to the bed, and climbed up next to me, giving me a quick kiss between leaning on the pillows. "She asked me if I was running away. Asked me who I killed."

I laughed out loud. The bag was still intriguing me. "I mean, for someone who doesn't want to live together…" I started.

He interrupted. "Miles, you're far from settled yet."

"Right…"

He stroked my hair, and finished simply, "I don't want to leave you right now, and like you said this morning, I'm enjoying our little vacation."

I smiled warmly. It was a good enough explanation, even though I knew in my gut that the longer we stayed together, the harder it would be to split up.

Tristan kissed me on the cheek, then rested his head on my shoulder, getting a good glimpse at my phone screen. "Real estate? I thought you had a guru for that?"

I sighed. "Yeah, well, she's a little high-end for my taste."

"You want to live like the people live." He nodded. "I can respect that. Wanna look at these on my computer?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Definitely."

Once we were on the bigger screen, I became far more optimistic. I realized I was looking at pictures of the kinds of places I'd always been jealous of; the kinds of places my friends lived in.

"Look at that!" Tristan kept reading listings out loud. "Two bedrooms. Deck in the back… there's a fireplace. Do you want a fireplace?"

I shrugged, laughing. "I don't know. Would I ever use it?"

"It might be nice!" Tristan reasoned. "I mean, isn't that supposed to be totally romantic? snuggling next to the fire place?"

With that, I felt a twinge of pain. I found it a little cruel that he was teasing me like that. What good would a romantic fire place do if he was away at college?

"Whatever…" He finally said, sensing that I wasn't feeling it. "Go to the next one."

"Oh. A foreclosure." He read carefully, narrowing his eyes to get a better loo at the picture. "Built in 1928. It sounds haunted."

"It's not haunted." I laughed, getting a good look at the small, gothic house. "It actually looks kind of cool."

"Okay…" Tristan said, clicking a button in the top corner of his browser. "I'm bookmarking this one."

"No. Wait. Stay on the page," I urged him, wanting to get a better look. I pulled the computer out of his lap and into my own, clicking on the "see more pictures" link.

The house needed work. The carpets were dingy. The paint was chipped. Even cleaned up, it wouldn't be terribly impressive. It was small. Two bedrooms. One bathroom. No yard. But there was something inexplicably nice about it. There were little features that popped out at me, things like frosted windows in the bathroom and bad 70s wallpaper in the kitchen. The house seemed full of personality. Unfortunately, though, the pictures were limited. Only one of the bedrooms was featured in the line up.

"Where's the rest of it?" I asked.

"I guess they want you to see it in person." Tristan shrugged.

I nodded, and clicked the "back" button so we could look at other listings.

"Why don't we go now?" Tristan joked. "It's a foreclosure. No one would know."

I laughed. "You got a crowbar?"

Tristan laughed too. "No, but Owen did teach me to pick locks when I was eleven."

"Wait, seriously?" I loved finding out new things about him.

"Seriously!" Tristan shrugged. "I got pretty good at it, actually."

Our laughter died down a bit, and I could tell we were both thinking the same thing. It would be really freaking cool to break into an old, abandoned house.

"Do you think…?" I started.

"I couldn't…" Tristan smirked.

"Right. You're right." I tried to convince myself.

We sat in silence for a moment longer.

"But, I mean…" He spoke again. "If you have a realtor take you, and you don't like it, you'd probably feel really bad for wasting their time."

He was full of crap. We both knew it, and neither of us cared. In unison, we shoved the laptop off of us, and leapt off the bed, scrambling for our coats.

"We'll to need to stop at an office supplies store." He said excitedly.

"Have I mentioned how awesome you are?" I asked back.

He shrugged. "Once or twice. Come on, let's go."

And then we were off.

\-----

The floorboards creaked loudly as we entered the foyer of the old house.

"Shh!" I glanced around, paranoid, my eyes still adjusting to the darkness.

"What?!" Tristan held his phone up in front of us, the flashlight app activated.

I wasn't sure why the noise bothered me so much, so I spat out the first explanation I could think of. "…They'll hear you."

"Who? The neighbors?" Tristan droned sarcastically. "I don't think we're that loud."

Another creak.

"Shhhh!" I grabbed onto his arm, and we lost ourselves in a fit of laughter.

"What!?" He cried again. "You are such a freak."

"I feel like we're in The Walking Dead."

Tristan clutched my arm tighter. "Well, I might not be a zombie hunter, but I played one in a film once. I think you're safe with me."

I grinned, and kissed him on the cheek. He was so adorable when he got all protective. He continued shining the light, but it only reached so far. I think both of us understood that seeing the house at night wouldn't truly allow us a good look, but the novelty of our excursion made up for that.

We finally came to a narrow staircase, which was wedged between two walls so that, from the right angle, it didn't even look like it existed.

"You go up first," He whispered, putting a hand on my back to guid me. I kept a hand on each wall, and climbed slowly, Tristan's light shining at my feet so I wouldn't miss a step. The stairs creaked too, I noticed, but I was starting to not mind.

When we got to the top, I realized that it was a lot easier to see. We were at the same level as the street lights now, and the light was pouring in from outside. The second story was just one room. The ceiling was vaulted, so we could only stand up all the way in the center of it. At the end of the room, a large, half-circle window gave us a view out the front of the house. Naturally, the window had a window seat, and custom-built shelves, triangular like the edges of the room, were erected on either side of it.

Neither of us spoke. We stepped away from each other, each of us sizing the room up on our own. I analyzed every detail. The floor was covered in matted shag carpeting, but I wondered if there were hard wood floors underneath. I could tear it up, and then put down a woven rug, so my feet wouldn't get too cold in the winter. I imagined the whole room cleaned up, my favorite things on display on the shelves: books, movies, pictures of Tristan…

He approached the shelves himself. He placed a hand on the side of one, and climbed up onto the window seat. As he knelt in front of the window, I heard a soft laugh of disbelief escape his lips.

I crossed my arms, stopping in the middle of the room to just watch him. There he was, staring out the window, watching the snow come down like a child experiencing their first white Christmas. My heart swelled, because I realized that this space was somehow having the same effect on him that it was on me. Something magical was happening. This was our house.

"It's a wonderful life." He said quietly.

"That it is," I breathed, half-convinced that he would give up everything and emotionally agree to live here with me.

"No," He shook his head, and I was confused for a moment as to why he was suddenly disagreeing with me. "The movie, It's A Wonderful Life. You remember that scene, where they walk past their future house, and throw rocks at the window to get a wish?"

I shook my head. I hadn't seen it.

Tristan sighed, defeated, and looked sadly around the room one last time. "I guess it's not important. This just… reminds me of that, I guess."

I wasn't sure what to say, so I just stepped toward him and kissed him. He hesitated a little, and pulled away.

"Um… do you mind if we get out of here?" Tristan asked. "This place is starting to give me the creeps. I think it might actually be haunted."

The way he said it, though, I could tell he didn't mean it. I knew the real reason he wanted to leave was that he was getting attached to the house, and the thought of us living there, and wanted to stop himself before he second-guessed everything he'd said the night before. I know I should have found this encouraging, but I could tell he was starting to get really torn up about it, and I hated that I was the cause of that.

"Yeah. Let's go." I said, and we started back down the stairs.

That night, as usual, Tristan fell asleep before I did. Curious, I tried to find It's A Wonderful Life on the internet. All I found was a summary and some youtube clips, but that was enough to get the general idea. Apparently, the movie was about this guy named George Bailey who gives up his lifelong dream of traveling the world to stay at home and take care of the people he cares about. Things start going really badly for him, so he decides to off himself. Then, an angel comes and saves his life by showing him what the world would be like without him. It turns out it would be a really crappy place, and that his life has meaning because he devoted it to others…

I realized Tristan was kind of like George Bailey, making sacrifice after sacrifice so he would never have to leave my side, and while part of me was optimistic that he'd make the same discovery George did, and realize I was worth it, the other part of me knew that I couldn't count on a perfect movie ending. If Tristan was ever unhappy, it was safe to bet a guardian angel wouldn't swoop down to save him. It was possible that him staying would end very badly for both of us.

And yet, I still wanted him to live in that house with me, and I felt horribly, horribly guilty about that.


	6. Chapter 6

"How long do you have to breathe in these fumes before you get high?" Tristan asked goofily, sliding his paint roller along the wall of my living room.

"Why, are you feeling a buzz?" I teased.

"No…" He said uncertainly, bopping around to the rhythm of the punchy indie music that was blasting from my iPod speakers in the corners.

I laughed, and dipped my own roller in the paint tray. It had been about two weeks since Tristan and I discovered the foreclosure, and I had closed on the house the previous day. Of course, we had a lot of work to do on it. We were beginning by painting the entire first story a pleasant shade of bluish-grey.

"You've never actually been high, have you?" I said, realizing.

Tristan's jaw dropped, pretending to be shocked that I'd even ask him. "Of course not."

"Hey, I don't know what you were doing before I met you!" I teased.

"You mean when I was fourteen?" Tristan laughed. "Yeah. I was eating an entire box of Captain Crunch every night and making West Drive fan videos. I think I went to one party. Maya made me."

"And you didn't even think about trying weed then?"

"No." Tristan insisted. "I was a good kid! Am… a good kid."

"Right." I smirked.

"Shut up," He grinned back. "Or you'll be getting up close and personal with this roller."

I shook my head. "I'm not saying anything!"

Tristan sighed, setting his roller down in the tray, and backing away from the wall. "Seriously, though. I need a break. What do you want to do for lunch?"

"We still have some of those taquitos."

"You mean those jenk-ass taquitos you got from the frozen food aisle at Longos?"

"What? They're pretty good."

"You know, you're a multi-millionaire, Miles. You could afford actual Mexican food if you wanted it." He said playfully. "You could even fly there and have then make it for you."

"I could stop feeding you at any moment." I reminded him.

He pursed his lips, accepting the truth in this. "Taquitos are fine. What do I set the oven to?"

"Three seventy-five."

"Awesome."

I laughed as he left the room, and set my own roller down in the tray. I put my hands on my hips and looked around. The walls were about half done, and I was proud of our handiwork so far.

I followed Tristan into the kitchen, where he was washing his hands in the sink, which we'd scrubbed the night before so that it'd be usable. I was barefoot, and the floor was freezing. I'd actually found that the entire house was cold, a result of the poor insulation that you'd find in most old houses. The kitchen was the worst, though.

I came up behind Tristan, wrapping my arms around his middle, and resting my chin on his shoulder. When he was done washing up, he turned off the water, and gazed out the window, at my tiny backyard and the deep, untouched snow. I buried my face into the nape of his neck, breathing in his warmth.

"I love you." I told him, my voice muffled.

Then, he tried to lighten the mood, knowing it was what I needed. "As much as you love those taquitos?"

I hung my head, laughing embarrassedly. "You know what? No. I'm not sure I do."

Tristan patted me on the shoulder, then started moving toward my freezer (another recent purchase). I stepped over to the sink to wash my hands as well. As he moved across the room, his phone went off in his pocket. He pulled it out, and read a text message.

"It's Dillon," He told me, a hint of a groan in his voice.

Tristan had been spending a lot of time rehearsing for the play. They only had two weeks left before opening night, and the student director, Dillon, was desperate for the performances to be perfect. I'd been trying to encourage Tristan to make the most of the experience, since he'd originally been so excited about the play, but he was having trouble staying motivated. I knew that my situation was distracting for him, and part of me still felt guilty about that.

"Let me guess: another unexpected rehearsal?"

"He wants to do a speed run of act two tomorrow after school, to make sure everyone has their lines memorized like he told us to."

"Do you have your lines memorized?" I asked.

"Obvi," He took the box of taquitos out of the freezer. "Do you think he'd, like, shiv me if I didn't show?"

"I think that's exactly what he'd do," I laughed.

Tristan shook his head. "No. I'm not giving in. I've stretched myself as far as I can go."

"Dirty." I muttered, unable to stop myself.

He gave me a stern look. I chuckled.

"I just meant I need a night off."

This only made me laugh harder. He finally cracked a smile.

"Miles!" He cried. "What are we, twelve?"

"Apparently," I shrugged. Then, I decided to take the conversation seriously, as much as I would have loved to agree that Tristan should skip rehearsal, I really was trying to let him base is life around something that wasn't me. "You should go to rehearsal."

"But it's gonna be Friday night…" Tristan groaned. "When was the last time we actually had a real Friday night?"

He had a point. We'd been so wrapped up in my drama, that we'd forgotten to have fun like normal teenagers. However, part of being a normal teenager was staying involved in after school activities, wasn't it?

"Rehearsal will last, what, less than an hour?" I reasoned with him.

"I guess…" He said miserably.

"So, you can go, and I'll take you out afterwards."

"Really?" He asked, cheering up a bit.

"Absolutely," I told him. "We'll do something adventurous."

He took a moment to consider his options. Then, he started to grin. "Sounds like a plan."

\----------

I really did want to give Tristan an awesome night out, to show him how much I genuinely appreciated how great he was being. At first, I thought of just taking him to dinner, but as my mind continued to wander back to him during class the next day, I realized I wanted to do something bigger than that.

It was impulsive, but I didn't feel I had anything to lose. On my spare period, I made a couple calls, and by lunch, everything was all set.

"Hey," Tristan said, beaming as he came to meet me at my locker.

"Hey," I gave him a kiss. As we pulled apart, I took his school ID, which was hanging on a lanyard around his neck, in my hand.

"Mind if I see this for a second?"

"What?"

I pulled out my phone, and held the ID up, snapping a picture of it.

"What are you doing?" He asked again, nervously.

I wanted to keep him guessing. I shrugged coyly, trying to hide my smile.

"Miles…." Tristan put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye. "Are you up to something illegal?"

"Oh, almost definitely," I told him, examining the picture I'd just taken. There was a glare shining off the card. "Damn it. Come here."

I started gently guiding him toward a square of white wall next to the lockers. I planted him in front of it. "Stay put." I packed up. "Okay, smile."

He flashed a cheesy grin. I smiled too, just because I liked the look of it, and took another picture. "Perfect."

He crossed his arms, and said knowingly, "Fake IDs."

He was too smart for me. "Fake IDs." I confirmed.

A wicked smile crept over his face. "Any particular reason we need them?"

"Oh, there are dozens of reasons we might need them. I was hoping we'd pick out specific ones as we go."

"Yeah. That sounds safe," He said sarcastically.

"But totally awesome, right?"

"If you say so." He laughed. He rolled his eyes but was clearly intrigued.

We were going to have an epic night.

After school, while Tristan was in rehearsal, I went and picked up our authentic replica "over 19" drivers' licenses in Chinatown, from an old friend named Stephen Thayer. I'd heard through the grapevine that he had a little printing shop in a basement underneath this restaurant where he did all sorts of forged documents. His parents cut him off after he flunked out of McGill, so he'd found other ways to financially support himself.

I'd known Stephen since I was about 12, and he was maybe 15 or 16. His family's cottage up on Georgian Bay was just behind mine, and I used to sneak out to engage in sloppy make-out sessions with his sister. Stephen gave me my first hit of weed one day, when I showed up and his sister wasn't home. We really bonded. I'd always had a little bit of a crush on him, but I hadn't been able to identify it at the time. It wouldn't have mattered, though. At the time, he seemed so much older than me, and I could never actually tell if he like guys or not. He was the type who always seemed like he was flirting with everyone. That was just the kind of face he had.  
"Miles Hollingsworth," Stephen grinned ear to ear as I entered the crowded shop, setting off a bell over the door. It had been about three years since we'd actually seen each other. "Holy crap. Look at you!"

I shrugged coolly. He came up and gave me a goofy bear hug.  
"You're tall!" Stephen teased.

"I guess puberty's done something for me." I justified.

"Indeed." Stephen laughed, then stepped away from me, rushing back to his desk, which was only a few feet away. "The IDs came out great, by the way. I think I've really mastered the art."

I watched as he opened one of his drawers and pulled out an envelope. He held it out to me. I opened it and let the two cards fall into my hand. They were on point.

"Wow, Thayer," I chuckled. "You're not messing around."

"I'll admit," He lowered his voice a bit. I don't know why. We were the only two people in the shop. "I put in a little extra effort, because it was you."

I was flattered. "I appreciate it. How much do I owe you?"

He just swatted the air and fell into his desk chair. "Shut up, Hollingsworth. They're free."

I raised my eyebrows. Was he crazy? "You know I'm loaded now, right? Inherited a large portion of my grandfather's estate...?"

"I did not know that. I'm cut off from society now, remember?"

I rolled my eyes. 

Stephen continued, "And I don't need your money. Just take 'em and have fun. Geez."  
I'm not sure I liked his attitude.

"Thanks, man. I'll, um, get you back somehow…"

He leaned forward in his seat a bit. "Just tell me this is for some sort of grand adventure you're planning." He smiled. "I mean, you sounded so determined on the phone."

"Nah," I laughed. It was cute how he was so intrigued." My boyfriend's just been wanting a real night out."

Stephen froze. "…Boyfriend?"

He didn't sound disgusted, just surprised. I'd kind of forgotten how long it had been since we talked. I laughed. For some reason, people's shock when they find out I'm bi always amuses me.

"Yeah, uh… Tristan." I held up the ID. "We're going on two years."

Stephen's smile only grew. "Shit. I should have known you were gay."

"Not gay," I corrected him simply.

He rolled his eyes. "Half gay. Whatever the fuck you kids call it. Either way, he's a lucky gent. I'd love to meet him."

"That could be arranged," I told him politely.

"Actually…" He continued. "If you two don't have any specific plans tonight, there's this show this a bar downtown. This, um, band I like is performing. I'll text you the address, if you want to swing by."

I actually kind of liked the idea of having a fallback destination, in case our spontaneity failed us. "Yeah. That'd be great."

"Awesome!" Stephen winked charmingly. "I'll be waiting."

\----------

When I went to pick Tristan up after rehearsal, I was hoping to sneak in and catch the end of their run through. Tristan was always so secretive when he was in rehearsals for something. He always said he didn't want me to see him perform until the show was "ready." A lot of the time, it was too hard to wait.

Apparently, I got there too late. The cast was already getting ready to leave when I slipped into the back of the auditorium. I spotted Zoe coming towards the doors.

"Hey, Zo." I said. "You seen my boyfriend anywhere?"

She smirked, nodding toward the stage. "Dillon took him into the dressing room. You know, they've been having a lot of 'private conversations' lately."

I rolled my eyes at her attempt to stir up trouble. "Yeah. Totally worried." I said, bored. "I'll go find him."

I knew my way to the dressing rooms by now. Tristan and I may or may not have had a bit of a rendezvous back there after the fall musical last year. I smiled fondly at the memory.

As I approached, I could hear Dillon talking to him: "You're being ridiculous. You're an actual shoo-in!"

"Maybe…" Tristan said hesitantly.

"Look, can you at least give me a reason why we can't cut an audition tape?"

"I don't know. Why do you care so much?"

I leaned up against the wall outside the dressing room. They didn't see me, and I didn't want them to. I needed to know what they were talking about, and I didn't think they'd tell me if I straight up asked.

"Tristan," Dillon urged. "If I'm going to be making films in Vancouver, I want the best actors available to me."

…Vancouver?

Tristan laughed, embarrassed. "Stop it."

"I wouldn't waste my energy talking about it if I wasn't serious."

"I'm just…" Tristan started, then trailed off.

"Miles is a big boy." Dillon told him. I held my breath. How dare he bring me up. "And didn't you two already agree not to stay together?"

"We agreed not to live together. But to move to the other side of the country…"

He was right. I could deal with him going to Smithdale, but to be blind sighted by the possibility that he might live in a different province in six month's time killed me. I felt a knot forming in my stomach. Was this a decision Tristan had already been mulling over? How long had he gone without mentioning it to me? I couldn't stand still anymore.

I stepped into the dressing room. "Hey." I said, pretending that nothing was bothering me. I just wanted to see if Tristan would even own up if I didn't make him. I lightly grabbed Tristan by the arm and kissed him.

"Hey, Miles," Dillon said, trying to mask the panic in his voice. "I was just giving Tristan some final notes."

"Yeah. You've been doing a lot of that, eh?" I replied coolly.

Dillon blinked nervously, then shook his head. "Um. Yeah… Anyway, I know you two have plans tonight. I don't want to keep you from them."

"Thanks." I replied.

Dillon nodded, and started inching toward the door. "I'll chat you later, Tris."

Tris? No. He did not just call him Tris. That was my thing.

Once he was gone, I just turned and looked at Tristan, giving him another chance to explain himself. He just grinned at me.

"So, you got the IDs then?"

"Yeah…" I said weakly. "I got the IDs."

Tristan grinned, and linked his arm through mine. "Perfect. This is going to be amazing."

\----------

"So, where do you want to go?" Tristan asked as I aimlessly drove my week-old Cadillac down Dundas.

"I don't know." I muttered.

Tristan paused strangely. "Okay…" He knew something was up. "Do you want to get food? I mean, we probably should if we're gonna be drinking."

I shrugged.

"…Did I do something?" He asked, a trace of annoyance in his voice.

And then, I snapped. "You can do whatever you want. It's not like we're married."

So much for trying to be supportive of his dreams. Now that I knew what his dreams actually were, I was losing it.

Tristan watched me for a minute. "You heard us talking about Vancouver." He said, suddenly understanding. "Miles, let me…"

I couldn't bear to hear him explain himself. "You know what, don't." I interrupted. I felt a lump rising in my throat, and knew I'd be crying within a matter of minutes. "I'm not gonna hold you back, that's not what I…" I inhaled sharply, tears collecting in my eyes. "That's not what I wanted."

"Miles…" Tristan's voice softened. He reached out to touch my arm, but I jerked it away. The car swerved a bit. He glanced out the window nervously. "Pull over, okay?"

"I can't pull over! There's nowhere to pull over!" I shouted back at him.

He raised his voice to match me. "Then find somewhere!"

It was probably only a minute before I found a parking spot on the side of the road, but it felt like a lot longer. Both of us were silent until the car was stopped, and even then, the only sound was my heavy, embarrassing sobbing. I felt like I couldn't breathe; like the air had been sucked out of the car. Tristan reached over and started rubbing my back, concerned.

"Nothing's set in stone," He told me. "I haven't even auditioned for Smithdale yet."

I put my arms up on the steering wheel and buried my face in them, trying my best to get a good gulp of air. Tristan's hand stayed on my back, and I couldn't decide if it was hurting or helping.

"So, if you get in…" I croaked desperately. "To Smithdale, I mean… you'll stay in Ontario?"

Tristan gave me a long, sad look. "Maybe…"

There was nothing convincing about it.

"I mean, there are just so many opportunities in Vancouver." He defended himself. "This school that Dillon's going to is right in the city. I just wanted to think about it."

Then, suddenly, another idea crossed my mind. "And you still don't want to live together?" I asked. "You wouldn't take me with you?"

Tristan was silent.

"Right…" I muttered, frustrated.

"You know, we never really finished the conversation," Tristan reminded me. "…About what your plans are. I guess I just thought since you bought a house, you were just going to stick around Toronto."

"I bought the house for us." I don't know what made me be so honest, but I hated myself as soon as I'd said it. Tristan just nodded, a look of understanding in his eyes. I think he'd known all along.

"Maybe we should take a rain check with the IDs." He finally said. "I think we both need time to think."

That was the worst thing he could have possibly said to me. I started to panic. "No, Tris…"

"Relax," He said quickly. "We're fine, okay? I'm just not in the mood to go out anymore."

I didn't agree with him. The idea of going back to the house and just quietly thinking seemed unbearable. I made the decision right then and there. I was going to go to see that band with Stephen, with or without Tristan.

"Fine. I'll just take you home." I said darkly. Tristan didn't protest.

\----------

I could the thumping bass line of a dance song as I came down the street, towards a place called "Willy The Slut's." I chuckled roughly to myself as I read the pink neon sign. Typical Stephen Thayer, asking me to meet him at what was undoubtedly the weirdest club in Toronto.

As I got closer, I noticed a rainbow flag hanging over the door. I froze for a minute, then pulled my phone out of my pocket, double checking the address. Stephen Thayer had asked me to meet him at a gay bar? Was this some kind of joke because I'd told him about Tristan and me? I ground my teeth and proceeded with caution. I didn't have the patience for this.

The club's bouncer, a middle-aged drag queen dressed like a 1980s bridesmaid, barely looked at my ID as I went through the door. Instead, she was full on checking me out.

"Oooh, you're a fresh one," She said, reaching out to stroke my face. I raised my eyebrows, horrified, but vaguely amused. "I gotta say, I like my twinks preppy."

"Thanks." I said dryly, humoring her. As I made it through the doorway, I pulled out my phone, and shot Stephen a text: "I'm going to kill you."

Stephen texted me back immediately. "Omg. Are you here?"

Before I could respond, he texted back again. "I c u. Don't move."

I let out a sigh of frustration, and looked around the club, not that I could see much. The strobe lights and fog machines kind of made it impossible. I wondered how Stephen had spotted me. I hoped that his eyes had adjusted, and that meant mine would too.

"YASSSSS!" Suddenly, I was being attacked. "Miles-Hollingsworth-the-half-gay! Wait, I thought you were bringing your man friend!"

Stephen, who was completely shirtless, but had some sort of rainbow swastika armband fastened around his bicep, was giving me one of the sweatiest hugs I had ever received.

"Yeah, plans changed." I said coldly. I could smell the alcohol on Stephen's breath, and was instantly jealous that he was drunk and I wasn't.

When he finally let go of me, I got a closer look at his arm, and my curiosity got the best of me. "Hey, what the hell is that?" I had to yell so that he could hear me.

He sighed heavily, looking dejectedly down at his prized accessory. "It's supposed to be ironic. It's not going over so well."

Okay, then… I glanced around the club again, trying to find the bar. "I need a drink…"

"Mmm…" He was glancing around too. For a second I wondered if maybe he forgot I was there.

I tried again. "What time does the band go on?"

He snapped his gaze back toward me, and his mouth curled into a wicked smile. "Okay, I lied. There's no band. It's a drag troupe, Miles. It's a motherfucking drag troupe!"

Yeah, that drink was sounding better by the minute. Any other night, I might have been ready to make my debut into the Toronto gay club scene, but tonight I was overwhelmed. I'd thought I'd be able to come out, listen to some crappy alternative rock garage band, and avoid thinking about the fight I'd had with Tristan. Instead, Stephen had dragged me to a place that I knew Tristan would have loved. Now all I could think about was how badly I wanted him there. This was torture.

The only upside was that this encounter had answered the long-looming question of Stephen's ambiguous sexuality. At least I had that.

"Oh, come on," Stephen cooed. "Don't be such a downer! We haven't seen each other in so long! Can we at least have fun?"

"I'm not sure about fun," I said honestly. "But if you get me drunk, this might become bearable."

Stephen nodded slowly, his eyes lighting up. "I knew there was a reason you were my favorite little fetus! You always knew how to have a good time. Come on, champ!"

He wrapped his arm loosely around my neck, and ruffled my hair, dragging me toward the bar. Within a matter of minutes, he'd put a rum and coke in my hand, and I was chugging it on my way to the dance floor. Now that I was here, I was going to make it my goal to get as intoxicated as possible. There was no going back.


	7. Chapter 7

I'm not going to pretend like I expected Tristan to call that night. I knew him better than that. When he said he was taking time to think, he meant it. Does that mean I wasn't hoping he would call anyway? No. I was constantly pulling my phone out and checking it, just in case I'd missed an alert. About an hour, and two drinks into our rendezvous, Stephen started to pick up on what was going on.

"Ugh. Stop being such a drag, half-gay!" He shouted, draping his arms over my shoulders as we moved to the beat of the spastic Euro-pop. Any other night, I would have totally been feeling the music, but at this particular moment it did nothing for me. "You're acting like you're forty… like you need to check in with the babysitter, or with your beard wife. Ha!"

I rolled my eyes, and shoved my phone back into my pocket, glancing around impatiently. Stephen pulled me closer to him, a dangerous look in his eye.

"I'm serious. If your boyfriend really cared, he wouldn't have set you loose." Stephen spoke scandalously into my ear. Our chests were touching, and his hand was just inches from my ass. This was so unlike anything he had ever done, and I was instinctively uncomfortable with it. I shoved him away.

"What!?" Stephen cried, genuinely confused. I shook my head, and started to leave the dance floor. "Hey, where are you going!?"

I didn't stop moving until I was outside the club. I left without really thinking about it. It's like my body was simply gravitating toward the fresh air. I passed the drag queen bouncer again on my way, and ignored her comment about how I was leaving so soon.

Once I was on the sidewalk, I put my hands on my head, and breathed deeply. This, tonight, was a bad idea. I was barely buzzed, and I was already regretting my decisions. Maybe two years ago, this was who I was, but I had changed, probably for the better.

"Hollingsworth!"

I turned around, and saw Stephen following me out of the building. He had thrown on this terrible multi-colored sweatshirt, that looked straight out of the 1980s. I had no idea where he'd gotten it, or how he'd put it on so fast.

He gave me a weak smile. "Look, I totally know how to mellow if you need me to mellow. I didn't mean to… You know?"

I raised my eyebrows, angrily intrigued, inviting him to actually explain himself.

He let out a loud, dramatic sigh. "I'm just a grabby kind of guy, Miles!"

He was so nonchalant about it. I laughed, annoyed. "What does that even mean?"

He shrugged guiltily, innocently widening his eyes. "You came alone, and I… I prey upon the young and vulnerable. It's an illness."

I rolled my eyes. Just because he owned his creepiness, doesn't mean his actions were excused. "Whatever, man. I should get a cab."

"What, you got your inheritance and didn't even invest in some wheels?" Stephen asked.

"You really think I'd drive my car here when I knew I'd be drinking?" I snapped back, impatiently.

"Ohhh! Mon peitit half-gay's responsible!" His mouth curled into an obnoxious smirk.

"Stop calling me that." I mumbled. I was so done with him.

"But, like, I'm serious!" He cried. "Your decision making skills seem pretty dope. Might even let you rub off on me. Pun intended."

I gave him a bored glare.

He sighed again. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I told you! It's an illness!"

"Right." I stepped up to the curb and held my hand out, flagging down a nearby taxi. It slowed down as it approached. "Hope you find an easier target inside."

I grabbed the handle of the back door and yanked it open. Before I knew what was happening, Stephen was pushing past me, and climbing into the cab. "What the…"

"Friends don't let friends leave the club on their own." He justified. "Gotta make sure you get home okay."

I was literally DONE.

"Get out of the cab." I ordered him.

"No!" He cried. "Absolutely not!"

I stood on the curb for a moment, one hand on the cab door. I pulled my phone out of my pocket again, to see if Tristan had texted. I think part of me was hoping his Miles senses were tingling, and he somehow knew I wanted to be rescued.

"He's not going to call you." Stephen said bluntly. "So we might as well go smoke some bud."

I was about to yell at him to shut up, but then I made the mistake of making eye contact with him. There was a sort of frankness to the way he looked at me that made him seem weirdly sincere, and that made me feel completely pathetic. Tonight, I was alone. Like, really alone, and Stephen Thayer knew it. I suddenly realized that he wasn't harassing me because he was a sex addict or a sociopath. He was harassing me because he was perhaps the only person in all of Toronto who was just as lonely tonight as I was.

"You're not going to give up, are you?" I asked Stephen darkly.

I noticed for the first time that there was a sort of sadness to his smile. "Why would I do that?"

I glanced over my shoulder, back at the club. Neither of us were going back in, so we might as well move in the opposite direction.

"Fine." I mumbled. I started getting in the cab. Stephen enthusiastically scooted over, to give me room. "But we're just gonna smoke. Nothing else."

"Bitchin'." He mumbled. "Purely bitchin'."

"Shut up." I told him, then leaned forward to give the cab driver my address.

\----------

"Remember that time…" Stephen said, rolling over on my bed to pass me the joint we were sharing. "…That we lost Hunter at that mall in Barrie?"

I took the joint, laughing. "Man, you were so dumb. You wanted to, like, find a random kid and dress him like Hunter in case our moms spotted us from afar while we were looking for him."

"It would have been a good idea," Stephen rolled onto his side, propping in head up on his hand as he watched me take a drag. "Didn't your mom, like, find him, though? He, like, went and got her at Nordstrom before we could do anything."

"Oh yeah," I remembered. I passed the joint back to him. "She was pissed. Neither of us were allowed to go swimming for, like, two days."

"A dumb punishment for a couple of teenagers," Stephen chuckled. "If I remember correctly, they all went down to the beach, and we stayed up at the cottage and did... well, pretty much what we're doing right now."

"Yeah. You completely corrupted me that summer." I accused.

"Hell no," Stephen shook his head. "I could have done a lot more to corrupt you, but I refrained. My sister, however…"

I smiled goofily. "Oh, I remember your sister," I said fondly. "First girl to ever feel me up over the pants. Fun fact."

"Gross," He gave me a little shove. "Ugh, you really aren't gay, are you?"

I shrugged. I really wasn't.

"How's Lydia doing, anyway?" I asked, just curious.

Stephen's face fell a little bit, his brow furrowed as if he were really thinking about it. "I mean, I haven't really talked to her. Not lately. Not since the shit with my parents went down."

"Hm…" I wasn't sure how to respond to that. I realized I was kind of in the same boat. I mean, I'd occasionally spot Frankie or Hunter in the hallway at school, but it was more comfortable for us to pretend like we didn't know each other.

Stephen forced himself to smile again as he blew smoke in his face. "I mean, it's not, like, a tragedy. Last time I checked, she was crazy as balls. She came home from boarding school a couple Christmases ago and weighed, like, an actual ounce. Then, she spent the whole two weeks hiding in random parts of the house and just falling asleep there. Barely talked the whole time, and when you did try to have a conversation with her, she'd laugh at stuff that wasn't even funny. And it was so dumb, because Mom kept saying Lyddie was just exhausted from studying so hard. It's actually kind of funny, because I think that's when I realized it…"

"Realized what?" I asked.

"That parents like ours… they don't actually get it, you know? Like, they think if you're spending their money, they're doing their job. They just… don't get it."

I brought the joint back up to my lips, thinking hard. This was some pretty deep stuff.

Stephen went on. "I just couldn't do it anymore, you know? I couldn't pretend to accept it. That's when I left school. That's when I got out."

I nodded. I understood completely.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" I smiled. "When they don't have anything left to hold over you."

"Oh, for sure, bro. Even when you don't have a trust fund to take care of you," He teased, rolling onto his back and letting his head hit my pillow. I held the joint out to him. He shook his head. "Nah, I'm good."

I nodded, and put it out on the edge of my nightstand before setting it down. I lay on my back too. We were quiet for a long moment, then he spoke up again.

"So, what was the fight about?"

I was confused. "With my parents…?"

"No." He yawned. "With that boyfriend. Why isn't he here? You had a fight. I can tell."

I rolled my eyes. I wasn't sure I wanted to break it down for him. "It's… it's complicated."

"Oh." Stephen's eyes were starting to flicker shut. "Well, I hope he calls, Miles."

"Me too, Stephen." I sighed. "Me too."

\---------

"Oh, what the hell!?" Tristan's voice woke me up with a start. My eyes flickered open, and I was completely discombobulated. I saw a sleeping mass under the covers next to me. After a moment, I remembered that it wasn't Tristan.

My adrenaline kicked in, and I went into defense mode. I quickly sat up and turned around. Tristan was standing at the top of the stairs. His eyes were wide. His nostrils were flaring. This was the maddest I'd ever seen him.

My mind was racing, trying to make sense of the situation. He'd probably come over to talk about last night, and why on earth would he call before coming over? We were past that point. I'd given him a key for a reason.

I was panicking. I couldn't let him think what I knew he was thinking. "Tris, calm down, it's not what it…"

"Calm down!?" He interrupted me. "Gee, yeah. That sounds like something I can do. I'll just take a couple deep breaths, maybe fix some lavender tea, listen to a CD of nature sounds… ALL WILL BE FINE."

Stephen sat up, and Tristan's weary eyes landed on him. He blinked, glancing around the room. He looked at Tristan. He looked at me. "Oh…" He realized what was happening. "Oh, this is awkward."

Tristan's voice got low and scary."Get. The fuck. Out. Of my boyfriend's bed."

Stephen looked to me. "So, you think there's a chance I'll get out of here alive?" He asked casually.

"Tristan, this is Stephen Thayer." I explained frantically. "He's an old friend. I met up with him last night, and he crashed here."

"You expect me to believe that?!" Tristan cried.

I gestured down to my body. I was still wearing what I'd been wearing the night before. "Does it look like any clothes came off?"

Tristan was blinking tears away. He stared at Stephen for a moment. I knew he really wanted to believe me. He just needed an extra nudge.

"Tristan, I swear…" I pleaded, slowly standing up. "You can even, like, call Frankie. She knows him. She'll tell you."

As I walked up to him, his eyes landed on something behind me. He held his hands up to keep me from getting closer to him.

"Were you two smoking marijuana in here?" Tristan asked disgustedly. I turned around to look at the half-smoked joint on my nightstand.

Stephen pointed at him. "Yes. Yes, that part actually did happen."

I turned around, and gave Stephen the darkest of looks. "Dude. Seriously?"

Tristan narrowed his eyes at Stephen. "I don't care how old of a friend you are. If you screw up Miles's life by getting him hooked on drugs, I will find you, and I will take an eyelash curler to your scrotum. We clear?"

Tristan was adorably hilarious when he was being protective of me. I covered my mouth to hide the fact that I was laughing.

Stephen's jaw dropped, a hint of a smile tracing his lips. I could tell he liked Tristan already. "Oh… Um. Clear as crystal, champ!"

Tristan cringed as he looked back at me. He took a breath. "Look, Miles. I don't know what you did last night, but whatever it was, I forgive you. I know how upset you were, and… apparently I really do trust you."

My heart swelled. I was insanely grateful. "Thank you. I love you so much."

Tristan just nodded hesitantly. He was more aware than I was of the fact that we still had an audience. "Can we go downstairs and talk about everything?"

"Oh…" I turned and looked back at Stephen, who gave me a small, awkward wave. "Um. Yeah."

Tristan turned around, and started leading me back down the stairs. Once we'd descended down the staircase, he took me down the hall and into the kitchen. There was a bag from Annette's, one of my favorite bakeries, on the counter.

"You brought breakfast?"

"I wanted to make up for skipping dinner last night." He shrugged sadly.

I quickly took him in my arms. We hugged for a few minutes, then pulled away. I gave him a soft kiss.

"I'm really sorry," I told him, keeping him in my arms. "For losing it. That wasn't fair to you."

"No, I'm sorry. What I do next year, it affects you. It's not fair to make you sit around wondering what's going on…" He paused. He gave me a long look, running his hands down my arms. Then, he continued. "…Which is why I wanted to talk this morning. I wanted to tell you exactly what my plan is, because I did think about it a lot last night."

"Okay…" I braced myself. My stomach was doing somersaults. I told myself that whatever he said next, I'd try to be okay with. I had to. For him.

"I've always wanted to go to Smithdale. The program's got everything I want, and I could see you every weekend without either of us having to bend over backwards. There's no downside, so I really think that's where I want to be…" He trailed off. I knew there was more to what he was saying, and wouldn't let myself feel any sort of relief just yet. "It's just that I might not get in. I want us both to be prepared for if I don't."

"You will." I told him desperately. "You have to."

"Miles, listen to me." Tristan said sternly. "If I don't, I'm going to have to look at other programs, and if one of the schools are in another city, we're going to have to start looking at things a little differently."

I didn't even want to think about that. I kept my focus on what he had just told me, that he truly wanted to stay nearby. I truly believed that if he wanted it, we would find a way to make it happen. That was enough to ease my mind.

"Whatever happens…" He took my hands in his. "… we're going to stay together. That's really the only thing I'm sure of at this point. I want to be with you, even if it's long distance."

"I know. Me too."

"Good," Tristan gave my hands a squeeze. "Now that that's settled, let's dig into those eclairs I brought."

Before I could agree, we were interrupted.

"Psst. Miles."

Tristan blinked impatiently. I turned to see Stephen standing in the doorway. "Sorry to interrupt. Um. I gotta go open the shop. I've got a pick up coming in at ten-thirty."

"Um. That's Cool," I said quickly. Honestly, I didn't really care what Stephen Thayer did. He could have just left, and I probably wouldn't have noticed. Tristan was all I really cared about.

"Yeah. So, uh… thanks. For having me, I guess." He pointed at me, then to Tristan. "And, um, Miles's Boyfriend." He held out a thumb's up. "Great to meet you. You seem like a treasure. I'm sorry about the drugs."

Tristan gave him a blatantly fake smile, and a quick nod. "It's cool."

"Cool." Stephen lingered for a brief moment longer. "Um…. yeah. Bye."

He turned and quickly left us alone again.

Tristan looked at me, a strange look of wonder on his face. "Old friend, eh?"

"I was young. Don't judge."

"Oh, never." Tristan smiled goofily. I laughed, and leaned forward to kiss him again, this time intensely and slowly. He kissed back, but when I pulled away, he raised his eyebrows and said, "You know, you've got hangover breath."

"Like you care." I kissed him again, pulling his entire body close to mine. I felt him relax into me. I loved that I knew exactly how to hold him so that he couldn't resist me. He started kissing back, more hungrily.

"Miles…" He said breathlessly, as I started tugging at his shirt. "Are you sure you don't want to eat breakfast first?"

"See, I feel like the window for make-up sex is just so small." I said charmingly, pushing him against the wall.

Tristan laughed as I started kissing his neck. "It's just… so cold in here."

I pulled away. My kitchen was kind of the worst. "That's valid."

We looked each other in the eye.

"Bedroom." We said in unison.

"Yeah." Tristan nodded.

"Absolutely." I agreed.

And then we were gone.

\----------

Tristan couldn't stay over that night. Apparently he had some big family brunch in the morning, and his parents wanted him to wake up at home.

"It's completely ridiculous," He lamented, as I helped him get his coat on around midnight. "They don't give two craps about what I do, but as soon as it might affect how the extended family perceives them…"

"You're preaching to the choir," I told him. "Remember which one of us had to smile for the media through sixteen years of his father's political campaigns."

"I don't know," Tristan teased. "Pretending to laugh at my great-grandpa's 'faggot' jokes is kind of a challenge. You'd think he would have realized I'm gay by now."

"Yeah. What an idiot." I leaned forward and gave him a goodbye kiss. "Call me when you're done, okay?"

Tristan nodded, then a naughty smile came over his face. "Today was incredible, by the way."

I wouldn't usually be crass enough to admit that Tristan and I had spent pretty much the entire day in bed, but it would be a lie to say that we'd gotten anything else done that day.

"I know," I grinned back. We kissed again. "Maybe we'll have an encore tomorrow night?"

"Hm. That sounds like a definite possibility. I'll see you."

Then, he left, and I closed the door behind him. As he left, I tried to shake how sad I was that we were spending our second consecutive night apart. A full day in bed together didn't make up for it. I tried to tell myself that this was good practice for if we ever had to do the long distance thing, but that only made me sadder.

Once he was gone, I went into my kitchen, and started making another batch of taquitos. We'd taken breaks for lunch and dinner, but I'd still managed to work up an appetite during the final leg of our marathon.

I got out my computer, and placed it open on the counter, so that I could check Facerange while I cooked. Anything to take my mind off the instant emptiness I was feeling. Almost as soon as I logged on, Stephen Thayer messaged me.

"Hey! Just so you know, there's another drag show next week. Same place. Same time. Y'know. Since you missed this one."

I laughed, actually astounded that Stephen was contacting to me. After years of silence, I'd hardly expected him to want to keep in touch after he left this morning. I'm not sure I would have even thought to reach out to him again, unless something happened to my ID, and I decided I needed another one. Now that he was messaging me, though, I realized that there wasn't any reason not to keep in touch with him. After all, it seemed like both of us needed a friend.

"I'll think about it." I said to him.

"That's all I ask." He replied. A moment later, he continued. "So, everything's alright with the BF, then?"

It was honestly nice to know someone cared. "Yeah. Better than ever." I told him, ignoring the fact that Tristan had left, because to anyone else, another night apart wouldn't seem like a problem.

"Aces, bro!" Stephen replied. Then, he asked. "But really. Why were you two fighting?"

I decided to be a smart ass. "Because a creepy-ass old man was asleep in my bed."

"Durr. Before that!" Stephen typed. "Unless there was a creep-ass before me. In which case, you really should work on your emotional fidelity."

"College stuff." I replied. I wasn't sure why I was telling him. There wasn't really anyone else to tell."If he doesn't get into the school he wants, he might have to go further away."

"Oh. Bummer." Stephen typed. "But, like, do you think he'll get in?"

I didn't actually know how to answer that. Of course, I thought Tristan was insanely talented, but I wasn't sure what his odds actually were. I hadn't checked.

Letting my curiosity get the best of me, I turned to google. I typed in, "Smithdale University theater school admissions rate."

After a moment, I found a search result that took me to the theatre school's home page. I clicked around a bit, before I found exactly what I was looking for, on a page labeled, "Frequently Asked Questions."

The heading read, "Q: What are my chances of getting into the program?"

I nervously bit my lip as I read what followed.

"A: Due to our program's top national ranking, and increasing interest from prospective students in recent years, we are only able to accept approximately 15% of applicants each year. Unfortunately, this means that an overwhelming majority of applicants are turned away."

My heart broke as I read. I wanted to throw my computer across the room, but I saw there was more text that followed, and was hoping that it might reassure me.

"However, we take our decision making process very seriously, and work hard to ensure that the most fitting candidates are picked to participate in the program. Our team reviews each resume closely, and our long and complex audition process helps us to accurately assess each applicant's range and talent."

At that point, I had to stop reading. The whole thing sounded so intimidating. I could understand why Tristan was taking this whole "alternative plan" thing so seriously. I wanted to barf.

Then, suddenly, a link on the site's side bar caught my eye:"Are you a fan of our productions? Would you like to continue to see our program flourish? Donate to the Smithdale Theatre School Today!"

The gears in my brain started to turn. I felt guilty about it almost immediately, but I couldn't just dismiss the idea. It wouldn't be right, but would it be wrong?

Over in my Facerange tab, my message notification chimed. I instinctively clicked back over to it, as if someone had just walked in and caught me looking at something naughty. The message was just from Stephen. It read, "Wow. I'm going to take you silence as a sign that you don't have much faith in the boyfriend."

Of course I had faith in Tristan. He wanted to go to Smithdale so bad. He'd worked so hard. Maybe I'd need to give the department a little nudge to help him stand out, but that wouldn't change the fact that Tristan truly deserved this, would it?

"First of all," I replied to Stephen. "The boyfriend's name is Tristan. Second of all, you bet your ass I think he'll get in."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I've been away for a while, but I wanted to come back and wrap this up. It's going to be a little rushed, but I figure it's better than nothing. Expect one or two more chapters in the upcoming weeks. Not a lot of Triles, but I'll get back to them, I promise.

I'm not going to sugar coat it. The way everything went down was pretty gruesome.

First, I was waiting in the hallway, just outside the hotel conference room where The Smithdale Theatre School was hosting auditions (They'd sent representatives into the city out of convenience for their downtown applicants). I was probably more anxious than Tristan, who'd never been anything less than confident in his acting chops. He'd walked into the room with his head held high, but me? I was lightheaded, and had this weird tingling sensation in my hands that wouldn't go away no matter how much I moved them. If Tristan didn't do well today, it was possible that he'd end up going to school in Vancouver, and he wouldn't necessarily want me to follow him there. My mind was racing as I tried to imagine a way our relationship could survive such a scenario.

Then, Tristan walked out, and it felt as if someone had just dropped a piano on my head, because I could tell by the look on his face that something was wrong. Maybe he had forgotten his monologue. Maybe they'd cut him off before he could finish. I rushed up to him.

"What's wrong? Did it go okay?" I said, trying to be optimistic.

He blinked, and then he looked at me, right into my eyes. He didn't seem upset, though. He seemed confused and disoriented, like he had a question, and he thought he'd figure out the answer if he looked at me.

A strange smile came over his face. "I think it went okay. Only time will tell."

That was unlike him. Tristan was hardly ever this neutral after an audition. He was hardly ever this… quiet.

"Are you sure?" I asked. I was stumped. I knew him better than this. Somehow, I couldn't figure out what game he was playing. Whatever it was, it seemed directed at me, and that terrified me. Had I forgotten to do something, or say something before he'd walked in?

Tristan glanced around briefly, eyeing the other kids who were waiting to audition. He swallowed hard, trying to keep down whatever negative emotions we're rising. "Let's just go get in the car." He said quickly.

I nodded. Whatever he wanted, his wish was my command. I led him to the hotel's elevator, my heart pounding.

He spoke up the moment the doors closed; the moment we were alone.

"So… Something crazy happened in my audition." He said dramatically. "Any guesses as to what it was?"

I was supposed to know this, wasn't I? I racked my brain, and suddenly, I realized. He knew.

I played dumb. "They asked you if you'd ever been on Broadway?"

"They told me that as compelling as my performance was, they didn't want me to think that the ten thousand dollar donation made in my name would sway their decision in any way. No, Smithdale U is a distinguished institution that accepts students based solely on merit alone."

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what route I should take. I could deny everything, but I knew that wouldn't end well for me. Instead, I decided to deflect.

"They used the word compelling, eh?" I said charmingly. "That's good, right?"

Tristan glared at me. The, the elevator doors opened, and he tore into the lobby, leaving me to race after him.

"Tris, hold on, okay!"

This is where it got terrible, because we were making quite the scene, and at least a dozen people turned to look at us.

"Oh! You want me to hold on! Do you want to explain to me WHY you didn't think I would make it in on my own?"

"Come on, Tris. That's not it at all, I…"

"You what? Thought if you donated to Smithdale, it would guilt me into staying here?"

I stood there, speechless. I didn't know what to say. I could feel everyone's eyes on me, expecting me to say something.

"Tristan, I love you." Was all I could muster up.

"Miles, this is MY life." He lowered his voice, and it shook as he stepped toward me. "You can't just throw your money around and take over. I thought you, of all people, would understand that."

My heart sank, and years of memories of growing up as my father's pawn came flooding back to me. I'd never wanted Tristan to feel like I'd felt my whole life.

"I know…" I tried, but Tristan was done.

"This is too much," He shook his head, and started backing away from me.

"What does that mean?" I asked defensively.

"It means that you can take your pathetic trust fund, and pay somebody else to love you!" Tristan shouted.

It was like all the air had been sucked out of the lobby. In the moment, I felt as if Tristan's words were literally killing me.

"Apparently," He continued icily. "I'm just not meeting the job requirements anymore."

"Tristan, don't." I pleaded.

But there was nothing left to say. He'd turned around, and was rushing toward the hotel exit. I watched him go through the revolving doors, and out onto the sidewalk, crossing his arms, and staring down at the ground as he disappeared. If I'd had a little more faith in myself, I might have gone after him. I knew in my gut, though, that this was my final strike. This time, things were over for real.

______________________________________

Life without Tristan was mind numbingly dull. Without him, my days lacked purpose. They all seemed bland and uneventful. They bled together.

Schoolwork was a chore, as always. However, as graduation approached, I began to mind it less and less. It took my mind off of him, and off of all the things I could be spending my time doing, but hated doing alone.

I tried not to think about anything long term. I tried not to worry about how I'd fill the void once high school was over. I took things one moment at a time. I finished one assignment, and then another, and then another until everything was done for the day. I tried not to fantasize about the day that Tristan and I would get back together. I knew how badly I'd messed up, and I'd hate myself every time I let my mind wander to a hopeful place. I was smarter than that. Tristan had more dignity than my fantasies credited him with. Yes, reality had it's way of coming back to me, and I couldn't bear it when it did.

As determinedly as I tried to distract myself, there were simply too many hours in the day. Every night, I reached that point where my homework was finished, and every night, I experienced a moment of panic as soon as I put the pencil down. It was like flipping a switch. That bitch of a voice inside my head reminded me that I was completely alone. Some nights, I simply curled up in bed with my computer, and hoped Netflix could help ease my anxieties, but most nights, I took a different route and called up Stephen Thayer.

Stephen had mastered the art of loneliness. He had dozens of creative ways to numb the pain up his sleeve, and any time I called him, he was more than happy to whip one out for me.

I'd ask him, "What are you doing tonight?"

And the response was always something weird, but unusually definitive. Like he'd thought about it at length, and was just waiting for me to call him and ask about it.

He'd say things like, "I want us to eat seven orders of Poutine from seven different restaurants, so we can better articulate why Pizza Pizza's is the worst."

Or, "I think we should go to every library in the city and check out every copy of every disk of Doc Martin, just to see if Doc Martin deprivation really does correlate with how cranky elderly people are in public."

Or, "My plan is for us to eat, like, an entire box each of Dreamsicles. And you need to watch The Gay Bed And Breakfast Of Terror with me, or else you have to go back to pussy for good."

Or occasionally, it was more simplistic. One time, all he said was, "So much ecstasy. Meet me at Willy's at 9."

No matter what his suggestion was, I typically went along with it, because it gave me something to do. However, his schemes rarely managed to thrill me. To be honest, I don't even think he got as much out of them as he let on.

He started sleeping over, mostly because neither one of us ever wanted to go home to an empty bed. One night, in the middle of an unnecessarily lengthy conversation about X-men's homosexual allegory, he rolled over and kissed me.

Stephen and I slept together for the first time that night, but the whole thing was very strange. Although I clung to him, pulling him as physically close as I possibly could, I found myself disconnecting emotionally. I felt hollow; profoundly aware of the fact that his body was foreign. He was foreign, even if I had known him for years.

I told myself that it would pass. Eventually, having sex with him would make me feel protected and cared for. That's how sex had always made me feel.

Of course, the only person I'd been with before Stephen was Tristan.

Tristan and I hadn't waited long to do it. We'd only been together a few weeks. It happened one afternoon at his house, after school, while his parents were at work. We'd taken turns breaking away from our make out session, insisting that the right thing to do would be to slow down, take a break, cool off. We both thought we were the strong one in the situation, but we quickly realized that our hormones were in complete control. The experience had been so average. I'd always taken for granted the fact that being in love with him made all the difference. That first time, and every time since.

But I continued hooking up with Stephen, hoping the situation would improve. It didn't.

____________________________________

There was one night in particular that stuck out in my memory.

"We're going to meet my friend, Benji, tonight." Stephen had told me that evening, as he did up the buttons of my shirt for me. "I met Benji a couple summers ago at Electric Island. He's Argentinian. Total Eurotrash."

"Argentina isn't in Europe," I informed him.

"Oh." Stephen blinked, realizing his error. "Well, then. I don't know what the fuck he is. He's the WORST, though. We're going to have SO much fun with him."

We ended up at a club called "Thrash." Stephen told me that it wasn't exclusively gay, but had a very gay vibe about it.

"Like you!" He added, then laughed maniacally. I rolled my eyes. His bisexual jokes were getting old fast.

The inside of the club was tragically un-spectacular. There were strobe lights. There was dance music. There was an overwhelming liquor smell. I could go out onto the dance floor, lose myself in a sea of people, and forget it was my first time there.

Benji, however, had nothing but good things to say about Thrash. When Stephen and I walked in, he ran up to us, and gave Stephen a wet-looking kiss on the cheek.

"This place is incredible," He cried in a thick Spanish accent. "I think I just saw Tatiana Maslany waiting in line for the bathroom!"

"Oh really? Which clone did she look like?" Stephen asked cheekily.

I had no idea what they were talking about.

Suddenly, Benji glanced over to me, and looked me up and down. I looked him up and down as well, and realized he was dressed like a Latino Justin Timberlake, circa 2002. He even had the bleach blond curls that looked like Ramen noodles. I wasn't sure how to react to him. He, however, was quick to compliment me.

"Ooh! Who's your pretty young thang, Stephenthayer?" Stephen's name was one word. Not two.

I raised my eyebrows, and stuck out a hand. "Um. Miles. Miles Hollingsworth."

He laughed out loud. He sounded like a hyena. "Miles Hollingsworth!? I didn't know the mayor of this great Canadian city was such a dapper HOMOSEXUAL."

"Nah, he's not fully gay," Stephen told him. "And he's not the mayor. He's the mayor's estranged, rebellious son."

"Ooooh," Benji nodded. "But does this mayor's son have access to the mayor's dinero?"

"No. I have my own dinero." I said coolly.

"Well, what are you waiting for, bambino?!" Benji cried. "Open us a tab, Mayor HOMOSWORTH!"

I laughed out loud. Stephen was right. Benji was the worst, but I could tell he'd successfully entertain us for hours on end. He had this contagious energy that had a way of just lifting your spirit.

"Wow…." Stephen grinned, putting an arm around Benji. "Benji, I hope SOUTH AMERICA never takes you back, because you are are a treasure and an asset to this country."

He winked at me, trying to impress me with the fact that he'd finally gotten the continent right. Then, he asked, "Are you going to open a tab or not, homosworth?"

I looked to Benji, who was sticking out his lower lip, as if he was trying to plead with me.

"Why the hell not?" I didn't mind doing what it took to keep this guy around for the night.

I took the guys to the bar, and we ordered a couple drinks, then, Benji took us to a table where he introduced us to a group of five or six homely girls who went to school with him at University of Toronto. He told me their names, but I knew it wasn't important that I remembered them. Benji told me that the girls would kill for a couple pitchers of margaritas, and without thinking about it, I told them to put it on my tab. I couldn't think of any reason not to buy everyone drinks. After all, Stephen was doing little to conceal the fact that I was the richest person there.

The rest of the night flew by. We danced. We drank. We tried having conversations over the loud thumping of the music, and failed miserably. Most of the girls didn't seem to be paying attention to where all the free alcohol was coming from, but one of Benji's friends, Marley, did little to conceal her appreciation. She was a brunette girl with matted bangs and a crooked jaw, but she had pretty eyes and a nice enough complexion. She was undoubtedly flirting when she touched my bicep and told me how generous I was. I thought briefly about kissing her, being close to a girl for the first time since I was fifteen. I wondered if it would make a difference.

As last call drew near, we got ready to leave. I stumbled over to the bar, yanking my credit card out of my wallet as I went. Marley rushed up next to me, slipping her arm through mine.

"Stephen said we could all go back to your place." She told me. "I'm dying to see where you sleep."

The pretty female bar tender smiled nervously as we approached. She had been taking care of my tab all night, and had no way of knowing that whatever total she gave to me wouldn't upset me in any way.

"Came to settle the tab," I mumbled, trying to be mature. I didn't want to let on that I'd just lost the ill fated game of quarters that Benji had talked me into, and was having trouble standing on my own two feet.

"Alright…" The pretty female bartender turned to her register's computer monitor and typed something in."That'll be six-hundred thirty-two dollars and forty-five cents."

I handed her the card. "Make it an even seven hundred." I told her. "Thank you for your service."

The bartender's eyes lit up. She swiped my card and handed it back to me, thanking me profusely. Marley giggled drunkenly as we helped each other toward the exit.

"You must be, like, really rich." She told me.

"Yeah." I said stupidly. "I kind of am."

Most of the girls went back to the dorms. Only Benji and Marley came back with Stephen and I. I barely remember the walk back to my place. I just remember that we hadn't been home for more than twenty minutes when Benji stood up and announced that he and Stephen were going back out to "track down some marijuana."

"Miles, do you have cash?" Stephen asked softly. He was sitting next to me on the couch, and stroked my arm tenderly as he asked, as if his level of seductiveness would affect my answer.

I emotionlessly took my wallet out of my pocket and handed it to him. The whole thing. He took it unapologetically, and kissed me on the cheek. "See you soon, babe."

And then they were gone.

Naturally, Marley wasted no time after that. She had been lying on the floor, and as soon as she heard the front door slam shut, she began crawling over to me, a hungry look in her eye.

"I'm gonna blow you sooo much." She slurred.

I didn't stop her.

The next morning, I woke up alone on the couch. Marley had slipped out sometime earlier that morning. I went upstairs and found Stephen and Benji asleep in my bed, both of them naked. My wallet was on the nightstand. It had been emptied. I didn't care. About any of it. I felt nothing.

I was just glad that I hadn't spent the previous evening alone.

___________________________________________

Before I knew it, the last week of school had rolled around, and I couldn't go more than fifteen seconds without overhearing someone talking about prom. Obviously, I had no plans to attend. I knew that would be generally awkward and unpleasant for everyone involved. I knew that skipping prom was a mistake countless adults regretted making, but I wasn't about to second guess my decision. Especially once I learned that Dillon and Tristan were attending together.

"I'm sorry, I thought you knew," Zoe had told me the morning of the dance, not sounding sorry at all. "Don't worry. They swear it's just as friends."

I didn't care if it was just as friends. I didn't care if they drove separately, or went dutch on the tickets, or "left room for the holy ghost" between them when they slow danced. The knowledge that Tristan was spending prom night with anybody other than me was enough to drive me crazy. It was going to take more than a basic scheme to distract me tonight.

As soon as my last final was over, I tore out of the school, dialing my phone as I went. It was only 1 PM. Stephen and I didn't typically meet up until later in the day, but I wasn't going to wait out of habit.

"Hey." He answered tonelessly.

"I just finished exams." I said quickly. "What are you doing?"

"Um…" He hesitated. "Pass…"

"What do you mean, pass?" I said, my voice oozing with hostility.

"Pass as in new question. You don't want to know."

"Can I come see you or not?" I was already getting in my car.

"Um…" He said, taking a little too long to come up with an answer. "Not…?"

"Are you at the shop?"

"Yes. I'm at the shop."

"I'll just hang around. Wait until you're done with work. You won't even know I'm there."

"Miles…" Stephen tried again, but I didn't want to make note of his hesitance.

"I'm on my way. Bye."

I hung up, and turned the radio on full blast, hoping it would help me clear my mind. I tried to come up with a plan for the night, one that involved copious amounts of alcohol.

By the time I arrived at Stephen's shop, I'd made a mental list of clubs to hit up. When I knocked on his door, I was beyond ready to reiterate it to him. Unfortunately, he didn't give me the chance.

"Go home." He said immediately when he opened the door, an unexpected firmness in his voice. He stood in the doorway of his shop, holding it open just wide enough so that I couldn't see past him. His sleeves were rolled up, and his cheeks were flushed, like he'd been working out. Something was making him frantic.

"What? It isn't take your boyfriend to work day?" I teased, trying to break the unexplained tension.

"I'm not your boyfriend." Stephen reminded me.

"Whoa. Chill out. I was just kidding." I felt irrationally embarrassed. Usually, he was up for a little playful banter. I'd never seen him acting so serious or impatient.

Stephen stuck his head out a little farther, glancing around nervously. "You shouldn't be here. I told you not to come"

And then I remembered he sold forged documents for a living. It had been so easy not to think about that, and to pretend like he really did spend his days making copies of peoples' business reports, as his "printing shop" guise suggested. The realization that he was, at that particular moment in time, probably in the middle of something extremely illegal, made me smile for some reason.

"Stop." He snapped. "I don't do this to amuse you. I do this to support myself. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

His words stung. I went into immediate defense mode.

"Okay, when was the last time you paid for anything yourself?" I asked.

"Screw you, Miles." He said. "I'm not your whore."

"Whoa. That's not what I said."

I could tell that he already regretted saying it. He stared at the ground for a moment, shaking his head. I could tell that he was trying to pick his next move. For once, he didn't have an oddly specific plan.

"Fuck it." He mumbled, then pulled the door open to let me inside.

At first, I thought that the printing shop, once cluttered, had been pristinely cleaned up. Then, I realized that it had simply been packed up. Everything was in boxes.

I was confused. "…Going somewhere?"

"I um…" Stephen stared at the floor, nodding shamefully. "I got a tip. From a friend. It might be time for me to get out of here."

"You mean the cops are after you?" I asked bluntly.

"Maybe? I mean, I've had situations before where someone has a grudge and is trying to spook me. But why take the chance?"

My mind raced as I tried to figure out what I was feeling. As lukewarm as our relationship had been, It terrified me to be losing my only companion.

"Where are you gonna go?" I asked.

"I have a friend who's been up to no good in Ireland…" Stephen told me. "And, you know, I have a fantastic fake passport that can get me there."

"Well, that's convenient." I said pleasantly. I wanted to keep things light. I didn't know why.

There was a long silence.

I finally asked, "Do you need money?" I don't know what made me do it. I felt guilty, I guess. That I had everything, and he was going to run with nothing.

Stephen laughed roughly, which surprised me.

"God damn it, Miles…" He massaged his eyelids with the palms of his hands, then sighed heavily as he lowered them.

"I'm just trying to help."

"Look at us." He gestured toward me in awe. "What are we doing? This is no way to live."

"We?" I asked, then reminded him. "I don't earn my own money. You said so yourself. We're not doing the same thing."

"We both fucked ourselves, and now we're alone."

I couldn't think of any way to respond to that. Stephen didn't expect me to. We both knew he was right.

"It's only been a few months," He told me simply. "Call your mom. Call Frankie and Hunter. They're good kids. Spend more time with your grandmother. She's always been on your side, and you're so fucking lucky to have that. And your dad? Well… he's a tool. But he is your dad, and he's gonna come around. One of you just has to break the ice."

"And you?" I challenged him, "What about your family?"

"I'll try and see them when I get back from Ireland," He told me, but I wasn't sure if I believed him. "I, uh, think it might be a little late for me to make amends."

I didn't accept that. The whole thing seemed a little hypocritical, but I wasn't in the mood to challenge him.

"Look, you need to get out of here," He told me after another tense silence. "On the off chance I can't get out on time…"

I nodded. I understood. Before I went, I stepped forward and wrapped him in a tight hug.

"Goodbye, Stephen." I told him.

He replied sweetly, "Sayonara, half-gay."


	9. Chapter 9

One Year Later

"Exactly how many times were you dropped on your head as an infant?" My friend, Kyle scoffed, dropping his knife and fork on the cafeteria table in frustration, and threateningly leaning toward his roommate, Alfie, who was rather unfazed by the whole thing.

"Oh, wow!" Alfie cackled. "Somebody needs a power nap."

"Nah," My roommate, Josh, chimed in, a menacing grin on his face. "Sleep does nothing to help with basic human compassion."

They'd been arguing about a pair of Beats headphones. Kyle was convinced that his had gotten stolen when Alfie accidentally left the door of their dorm room unlocked. Alfie had insisted that if someone was going to rob their dorm room, they'd steal a lot more than a pair of headphones. Kyle must have left the headphones in a lecture hall by mistake. Kyle, unconvinced, decided that to punish Alfie for his losses, he'd blast the awful rap music he listened to round the clock. This was impairing Alfie's ability to study for finals, and Alfie was desperately asking our opinion on the matter, so we could try to let Kyle know how unreasonable he was being.

At least once a week, these two had a public falling out, and it was a coveted form of entertainment. Josh and I felt honored when we had the privilege of witnessing it, mostly because it was so much fun to make Kyle angry.

"You know you can get a pair of earbuds for, like, ten bucks at the campus book store." I reminded him.

"Not everyone's made of money, Hollingsworth…" Kyle mumbled, then added, in the nicest way possible, "Go jack off to a picture of fricken Neil Patrick Harris, ya queer."

Josh laughed out loud, and randomly added. "Hey, remember that party on Saint Patty's Day? When Miles got, like, twelve girls' numbers, and you got bitch slapped for your liberal use of the C word?"

Kyle glared at him. "No. I seem to have forgotten about that night."

"Allow me to remind you." Josh didn't skip a beat. "So, this 'queer' here got, like, twelve girls' numbers, and you got…"

Kyle slammed a fist on the table, interrupting him, and stood up. "Screw this. I gotta go pack my shit."

He stormed off.

"We love you!" Alfie called after him. I couldn't stop laughing.

"Okay, so…" Josh turned to Alfie once Kyle was gone. "On a scale of one to infinity, how badly are you going to miss that oaf of a man."

"Infinity. You guessed it." Alfie grinned sarcastically. The semester was almost over, and he was ditching Kyle for good next year to move into an apartment with Josh and I. We'd be spending the summer apart, but none of us could wait to reunite at the end of it. I'd only been around since January, having taken a single semester off after high school to figure my shit out, but I'd grown closer to these guys than I ever could have expected. There was something about communal living that just kind of forced those kinds of bonds, and I had to admit it'd been good for me. I was totally happy that I hadn't opted to live alone, even though I could have afforded it.

"Aw. We can invite Kyle over next year," I teased Alfie. "Have a nice little dinner party. A little wining and dining."

"God. I am so excited to see what kind of bougie-ass groceries you buy when we live together." Josh teased. "I've always assumed the other half incorporates truffle oil into everything."

I laughed, remembering the Longos taquitos I'd eaten almost every day of the first year of my adult life. "Okay. Yeah. I'm looking forward to disappointing you."

"Asshole." Josh muttered.

"Either way. We should toast, eh?" Alfie clumsily lifted his coffee mug. "To our last day of cafeteria breakfast?"

I was suddenly profoundly aware of how rubbery my french toast was. "I'll drink to that!"

Josh and I lifted our mugs as well. But as we clanked our mugs together, I realized I was actually going to miss these mornings in the cafeteria. I wondered if we'd even make the effort to eat meals together once we had an apartment, and were all doing our own cooking.

The feeling of sadness quickly passed, because the thought was one negative on an endless list of positives. I was only a semester into college. The wasn't the end of anything. It was only the beginning.

\-------------------------------

"Are you sure you have everything?" Grandma asked me. "Did you check under the bed?"

"The beds are, like, four feet off the ground. We'd see if I left something under it." I smartly reminded her, throwing my last duffel bag over my shoulder.

"And the closet?" She asked me. "You didn't leave anything in the closet?"

I shrugged. "Just my dignity when I came out."

She frowned at me.

"That was a joke." I winked.

"Alright, then." She sighed, moving past it. "Well. Say goodbye to the most disgusting place you'll ever live."

I took one more look around my empty dorm room. Josh had been out since the day before, and the space had already seemed eerily off without his stuff in it. I had to keep in mind that before I moved in second semester, Josh hadn't been assigned a roommate yet, and had been staring at an empty half of the room for four months. If I had gone first, it wouldn't have been as weird for him. He'd seen this place barren before.

I turned to my grandma, not in the mood to get sentimental. "You ready to go?"

She nodded. We turned the lights off on the way out, and didn't look back.

It was about a five hour drive from Ottawa to Toronto. I'd offered to ship my things back to my house, and grab a flight so that Grandma wouldn't have to come get me, but she had insisted, just as she'd insisted on moving me in the previous winter.

I thanked her again for her generosity as we drove along the highway, my boxes piled high in the back seat of her SUV.

"Honestly, Miles, you act as if I have something better to do than spend quality time with my grandson." She replied playfully.

I was flattered. "I mean. Thanks anyway…"

"No problem…" She trailed off. A thoughtful look came over her face as she stared at the road ahead of her, and I could tell that there was something she wanted to share with me.

"Everything okay?" I asked nervously.

"Yes, of course. I just wanted to run something by you."

Oh boy. "Yeah. What's that?"

She began, "I want you to know you can stay with me whenever you want…"

I'd been renting my house out to a group of college students who, surprisingly enough, I'd found through South-American-Benji. However, they still had a week left of classes, and two weeks before they were planning to vacate so I could move back in for the summer. I'd been planning on camping out at Grandma's townhouse in the meantime.

"I know," I told her. "And I really do appreciate it."

"I just want you to know that your brother and sister's graduation is this weekend, and I plan on attending."

"Oh." I should have known this was about my family.

"Have you talked to either of them?" She fished.

"No. Can't say I've had the pleasure."

"Your sister's going to Yale. Did you know that?" Grandma informed me. "And Hunter will be up at McGill… And, you know, they'll both have access to their trusts. Your parents are fine with it. I think your father has come around, after seeing them showing motivation, in spite of having the money handed to them…"

I was getting kind of uncomfortable. "What's your point?"

"Miles… I'm so proud of you. All I ever wanted was to you to have the freedom to make decisions on your own, and I see you doing that. You never had to go back to school, but I'm so impressed that you did; that you're keeping busy… And I think your family will be proud too, if all of you would just stop being so stubborn."

"I'm not being stubborn." I tried weakly.

"Just come to the graduation," She urged. "You don't even have to speak to your father. At the very least, just come and break the ice with your mother and the twins…"

"You mean the people who just let me leave, just because Dad told me to?" I asked hostilely.

Grandma told me, "You know they regret it."

"Oh really? How do I know that?" I asked. "I haven't heard from any of them. If they want to apologize, that's on them."

"It doesn't matter who's wrong or who's right. I knew this ridiculous rift would have lasted as long as it has, I never would have given you the money!" She was gripping the steering wheel in frustration, her knuckles turning white. "For Christ's sake, Miles. They're family. What are you going to do? Spend the rest of your life alone?"

I shook my head. "I'll manage."

And I really believed that. In fact, I'd truly believed for a while now that I was going to be okay.

\-------------------------------

When we got back to the city, my grandmother paid the landscapers who'd shown up to trim her hedges to unload the boxes from the car and stash them in my grandpa's old office. After she'd handed them a gratuitous wad of cash, she announced that she was exhausted from the trip, and retired to her room to take a nap, leaving me to my own devices.

It was strange being back in the city, even though I hadn't been gone a whole year. I felt as if I was reuniting with an old friend. Nothing seemed to have changed between us. I took the streetcar across town to the garage where I'd paid to keep my car while I was away, and set out for my first adventure since coming back. It occurred to me almost immediately that if I were to go to a club tonight, it would finally be legal. I'd had my nineteenth birthday since being away.

I couldn't wait to remind Stephen of this. We were going to have so much fun.

He'd been back from Ireland for a few months, and came to stay with some friends in Scarborough. He'd had reached out to me when he'd gotten back in town, asking if we could see each other, and was shocked when he found out I was away at school.

"Does that mean you're chummy with your dad again?" He'd asked cynically.

"I want you to think real hard about what you just asked." I'd answered.

Over the last year, I'd thought a lot about what Stephen had told me, and I'd come to the conclusion that I didn't want to reach out to my parents long before my grandmother had even suggested it. Everyone's argument for reconciliation was that they were "my family." That was supposed to mean something.

The more I dwelled on this, and the more I explored my own hesitance, I started realizing why Stephen couldn't take his own advice. His "family" was just as unhappy as mine was. They'd tried to use money as a tool to control and manipulate each other for years, and if Stephen could have been happy dealing with that, he would have found a way to.

I'd realized that what was hard for Stephen wasn't being estranged from his biological family. It was forming connections with people, and always having to leave them behind because he didn't have the financial stability to stick around. Realizing this made me sadder than anything.

I wrote him the check when I came home for Spring break. I passed it to him over the table at Starbucks, and he cringed when he read it.

"Have I ever told you I wanted your money?" He asked, bored. "Like, you're seriously kidding, Homosworth."

The nickname had never lost it's allure for him.

"It can be a loan. If you want it to be. If you'll feel better that way."

"A loan?" He chuckled. "Do you know how bad my credit is?"

I ignored him. "I want you to start a business somewhere. A legal business. It doesn't have to be here, but that's what I think you should do. Something permanent."

He left the check untouched in the middle of the table. "You of all people should know better than to tell me what to do."

"Listen," I got where he was coming from, but it was still frustrating. "There are no strings attached here, Stephen. This is a gift, if you want it to be…"

"I don't want it to be anything." He insisted.

"Look, our actual family's suck, but I've always seen you as an older brother…" I told him.

"But we had so much of the sex…"

"Hmm. Well, maybe there was a reason it was never any good…" I reasoned.

He laughed out loud. "Ouch! But you make a valid point…"

"Look, I consider you my family." I'd told him. "Even if you just use this money to pay off some debts… I'm giving it to you. I want you to have it. Not because I want something, or feel obligated, but because I care."

He eyed the check. He picked it up and read the amount again. This time, he didn't put it down.

"I feel like a whore now." He told me uneasily. After another moment of hesitation, he took out his wallet and put the check inside. Then, genuinely, he said, "Thank you."

"It's not a problem at all." I told him. "After all, I'm a millionaire."

\-------------------------------

I knew he was there as soon as I saw Zoe Rivas walking towards the bathrooms, because there was no way a girl like her would show up at a bar where absolutely no men would be hitting on her, unless her gay best friend had dragged her there.

I was hyper alert, on edge, fully convinced that every guy I saw out of the corner of my eye was him. I kept imagining it. What would I say? How would I carry myself?

And then, I thought that there was still the total possibility that he would just ignore me. There was the possibility that I would never even have the opportunity to make amicable conversation with him, because he still hated me for what I did, what seemed like so long ago.

Or worse, he'd forgotten all about it. It had been long enough that it didn't matter to him anymore. I didn't matter to him, and here I was, still pathetically comparing every guy or girl who showed interest in me to him.

I was happy for him. He'd ended up out in Vancouver. I'd heard through the grapevine that he'd gotten into Smithdale, but after our break up, I figure there hadn't been any reason for him to say. A few people had shared links on Facebook of a web series he'd starred in. It was a simple show, about a bunch of misfit friends trying to raise money for concert tickets. He played a guy who was in love with his best female friend, and he honestly sold it. You really felt for and rooted for his character, and I was totally proud of him. I couldn't believe that my own selfishness had almost gotten in the way of him doing something like that.

That's what I wanted to tell him. The second my eyes finally landed on him, waiting passively at the bar, all I wanted to do was walk up and tell him I was proud of him. That I got it. That he was better off without me.

And that even though I was okay, and even though I knew that everything had happened for a reason, I still missed him everyday.

Instead, I found myself walking up to him and coolly asking, "Hey. What can I get you to drink?"

He turned to me with a satisfied grin, probably thinking I was a stranger hitting on him. His smile faltered a little when he noticed it was me, and his posture went rigid.

"Oh, Miles…" He said, pleasantly enough. "Um. Hey. What are you doing here?"

"Oh with some friends. You?"

"The same." He looked down at his feet, and I realized, with some relief, and some uneasiness, that he hadn't forgotten me at all.

"I like your hair." He'd died it blond again, but a more subtle shade this time.

"Yeah. Well, blonds have more fun." He shrugged. "Thanks…"

He ordered a cranberry martini, and I told the bartender to put it on my tab. We stood their awkwardly for a few minutes while we waited, and then he broke the ice.

"I heard you're in school now." He told me.

"Um… yeah," I laughed nervously, wondering if he was surprised to hear that, like everyone else had been. "In Ottawa."

"You have a major yet?" He asked.

"I'm actually thinking about sociology… And I might want to minor in gender studies." I told him, the quickly added. "I don't know, yet. I've only taken a few classes."

He nodded, understanding. "We've got time to figure it out."

That couldn't have been more true.

Then, I finally mentioned, "I saw your show, by the way…"

He looked a little confused, "You were in Vancouver?"

"Oh. I meant, your web show. Did you do live theatre too?"

"Yeah. A little bit."

I was so dissatisfied with this answer. I wanted him to elaborate. I wanted to know every detail of everything he'd been up to.

"What were you in?"

The bartender brought him his drink, and he answered as he sipped it. "Um. I played the youngest daughter's husband in Fiddler on the Roof. You know. Fyedka the gentile."

"Oh, nice!"

"Yeah, and I worked crew for The Glass Menagerie and The Vagina Monologues."

"And how were those?"

"Fun." He smiled. "I made a lot of friends."

"Yeah…" I thought of Josh and Alfie. "That's great."

And then I remembered other people I'd interacted with at school. I remembered people who'd hit on me. I remembered people I'd gone out with. A wave of panic came over me, and I found myself blurt out, "So, um… Do you date much?"

Tristan raised his eyebrows, seeming almost a little bit impressed that I would dare to ask him that.

"A bit." He said coyly. "But I'm single, if that's what you're asking."

I was relieved. "I was just curious," I tried.

"I know." He said, not convincingly. He did little to conceal his knowing smirk as he sipped from his martini glass.

And that's when I realized. He was glad that's what I had asked. Suddenly, I could feel myself blushing.

Another long pause followed.

Then, Tristan said, "You never told me what your deal is."

My heart was practically bursting. "Single." I told him. "Chronically single."

"Well, that's hard to believe." He replied.

What in God's name did he mean by that. "Is it?"

"I mean, there are a lot of gold diggers out there." He teased.

I laughed. "Yeah. I guess I've managed to keep them away with my ugly face and repulsive personality."

"That's gotta be it." He agreed. "Well, if it's any consolation, that repulsive personality was always my favorite thing about you."

"Gee, thanks."

"I'm just saying…" He bashfully played with his swizzle stick. "…If there's not some super long line to get to you, I wouldn't mind catching up this summer."

Nothing would have made me happier. "Yeah. I wouldn't mind that either."


End file.
